Three Gunmen and a Baby
by Ruth Piwonka
Summary: Continuation of 9 x 3. Aliens, the Allman Brothers, and muggy Florida. Will there ever be any relief left for poor Scully?
1. Chapter 1

"Three Gunmen and a Baby"

Chapter One

Scully's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

June 3rd, 2001, 3:39 a.m.

For the fourth time that night, Will's horrible screams woke up both Frohike and Langly. Frohike immediately rushed into Scully's bedroom for the child, and Langly followed him reluctantly. The older man picked up the infant and tried to rock him back to sleep, but Will cried even more. Langly growled and waived his hand dismissively at the baby. "I can't take it anymore!" he yelled and grabbed his blonde hair.

"Shut up and take it like a man, Langly," Frohike snapped.

"I _have_ been...for the last three times, Rumpelstiltskin. I'm supposed to go out with Sabrina for breakfast!"

"Oh, you need your beauty sleep, is that it, Fabio?" Frohike threw the walk-in closet door open and stepped inside to search for a toy.

"Knock it off. I'm outta here," Langly roared and slammed Scully's front door on his way out. Unfortunately, that woke Byers up, and the stuffed animal that Frohike found had no effect upon the boy.

Byers yawned and meandered into Scully's bedroom. "Was that Langly? Wassamatter? We run out of baby formula?" he asked.

"No. The ken doll wimped out on us."

"You mean he left?"

"I never thought I'd say this, but, yes. He left us...for a woman," Frohike mumbled and tapped Will on the back. "He doesn't need to be burped. Nor does the room smell like manure, so the diaper's safe."

"Bottle?"

"You can try, but this just sounds like a bad dream cry, not one for food."

Byers shuffled out and headed for the refrigerator as Frohike gently put Will back down in his crib. Will still was wailing his head off, and he was running out of ideas. One suddenly came to him. "You don't happen to like stand up comedians, do you, Will?" he inquired. When he received no encouragement, he shrugged. "Well, it couldn't hurt. I bet you probably wouldn't get the light bulb jokes yet, but how about some blonde ones?"

Will rolled back and forth angrily with more sobs.

"Okay, here we go. Did you hear the one about the blonde who drowned herself in the pool?" He paused for a dramatic effect. "Yeah. She saw a 'scratch n' sniff' sticker on the bottom and dived in."

The child continued to cry.

"Yeah, I know, not my best one, either. Um, here's another. I was setting up one of my displays at a college science fair once, and I happened to meet a blonde girl whose very own display was a thousand piece puzzle in a glass frame...I think it was of the Empire State Building or something. Anyway, her big claim to fame was that she finished it in two years instead of four as the box suggested."

William stopped as if the story had clicked, but unfortunately, more shrill cries came forth from his mouth. "Boy, you're not an easy audience to please," Frohike muttered and scratched the back of his head. "I've got one more that I can think of. Ah. I was on a very full flight once on the way to San Francisco, and there was this blonde model that got on the airplane in the first class section. That was all fine except for the fact that her ticket said coach. So when the real ticket owner came to be seated, the female flight attendant asked her to go back to her issued seat. The model said 'I'm blonde, I'm beautiful, and I'm not going anywhere'. They had just closed the door then, and so, the flight crew tried to send in a handsome steward this time. However, the woman gave the same answer, 'I'm blonde, I'm beautiful, and I'm not going anywhere'. So the crew members talked amongst themselves and decided to ask the co-captain for his advice since they needed to start the safety speech. The co-captain agreed, left the cockpit, and spoke to the woman for a few moments quietly. Ten seconds later, she immediately shot out of the seat and headed right into the coach section. Well, the flight was on its way, and when we were in the air for about twenty minutes, they switched off the 'seat belt' sign. The flight attendants cornered the co-captain and asked him what he said to the woman that finally made her move. He told them that 'Oh, I said that first class isn't going to San Francisco'. 'They'll be going to Sacramento.'"

William's cries did fade away, but when Frohike finished, they started right back up once more. "Ah, you're just like your mother...no sense of humor. Byers!"

"I'm coming!" Byers returned with the warm bottle and tried to offer it to William, who would not accept it. "Boy, I thought we'd have gotten it right by now."

"I'm convinced that women are the only ones who can unravel the mysteries of the wailing child," Frohike lamented. "What now?"

"I've got an idea," Byers stated and set the bottle down on Scully's windowsill. "But keep quiet until I'm done."

Frohike nodded and moved out of his way so that Will could only see Byers. He then whirled around and powered a boom box upon Scully's chiffonier. Byers fiddled around with the radio tuner until he got to the local country station. "Love Sick Blues" by Patsy Cline had just commenced to play, and Byers spun back around to focus his attention on Will as he started to lip-synch to the song.

The boy's whimpering ceased suddenly as he watched Byers' lips, and Byers even began to dance along with the track. As Byers got to the chorus, William giggled and smiled. Frohike could _not_ believe his eyes. He was totally shocked; not only was he astonished that Byers knew _all_ the words...he didn't know that Byers could dance, either.

The song came to the instrumental breakdown, and Byers jammed on an air piano in time with the solo. William was still happy; he even rolled back and forth in time to the music. As Patsy Cline's last notes with the song died down, he settled down, and closed his eyes. Byers shut the stereo off, collected the bottle, and closed the door with Frohike trailing him on the way out. "Byers, I-"

"No. Not a word."

"But I was just going to congratulate you for getting him to sleep," Frohike complained.

"Sure you were." Byers opened the refrigerator and put the bottle back inside.

"Okay, fine, I wasn't," Frohike soughed. "But you totally...surprised me."

"That's why I told you to be quiet until I was done."

"But...country music? Byers, you never listen to music...not since you've been hanging around with us," Frohike continued and pursued Byers back into the living room where they'd been sleeping.

"I had a life before I met you two, you know. My folks liked to listen to a lot of John Denver, Reba McIntyre, and Dolly Parton, too." Byers plopped down on Scully's sofa and covered himself with a green duvet.

"Well I knew you were a softie, Byers, but, man...country music? That stuff is for patsies and wimps that trust our government."

"If you tell _anyone_ about this," Byers wagged his index finger at his friend, "I'm gonna give Mulder back his porn collection and tell him about that photo of Scully you had doctored."

"I don't know what you're talking about, and Mulder doesn't need his porn collection back now," Frohike crossed his arms defiantly.

"That may be true, but I can describe a certain photograph that you happen to own with a backdrop of Lahaina, Maui in the background and a certain red head we both know wearing less clothing than she'd ever show to any of us...-"

Frohike's smirk dropped and so did his arms. He was now concerned that Byers was actually stating the truth. "You wouldn't..."

"Like I said, quid pro quo. Just keep silent about what happened a few minutes ago, and we're square." Byers leaned against one arm of the sofa and laid his head on a pillow. "I'll go back to being ignorant."

"It's a deal. How'd you know about that?"

"You're not as good as hiding your files as you think you are, Frohike. Labeling a virtual folder 'private' could hardly be more conspicuous."

"It had an encrypted sixty-four bit password on it." Frohike laid down in his sleeping bag.

Byers shrugged and closed his eyes. "One question, though."

"Name it."

"How'd you get a photograph of Scully smiling?"

"Took it after Mulder woke up from being dead."

Steak n' Shake # 1040, Wauchula, FL

June 3rd, 2001, 6:35 a.m.

"Would you like some breakfast since you're here?" Clampett inquired of Scully as they headed for the kitchen. "I can ask Clarie to whip somethin' up. It'll be on me, of course, since I woke you up so early."

"Just a cup of coffee..." Scully said gruffly and pointed to one of the refrigerators with a post-it note reading 'don't touch the red stuff'. "Is this it?"

"Yeah, that'd be it." He turned and politely ordered two coffees out the swinging door to Clarie at the counter. Scully removed yet another pair of hidden prophylactics, slipped them on, and opened the Frigidaire. "Sheriff..." she called; her eyes did not leave the crimson potion.

"What's goin' on?"

"You specifically told everyone on staff not to touch this chemical, right?" Scully asked.

"Well, I told Clarie to tell everyone. The note was there," Clampett shrugged. "Why?"

"Come here and look at this," she demanded in a stern tone.

He scratched the back of his head and joined her. "Oh shit."

"I can only hope that no one used this on the food..." She finally tore her eyes away from the half empty flask minus one rubber stopper and gave him a grimace.

"This ain't good," he muttered and pivoted on his heel one step away. "Clarie!"

Five seconds later, the server shuffled through the door wiping her hands with a towel. "Your coffee's brewin', Sheriff. Sorry for the hold up."

"That's not why we called you," Scully answered her quietly and opened the refrigerator door wider for Clarie to look at the incriminating evidence. "Where's the missing portion?"

"Uh-oh. Um, I dunno, maybe Carl used some of it. I did have an order for some waffles this morning..."

"Think a little bit harder," Scully urged her on.

"And well...maybe he thought it was raspberry syrup. It _does_ look similar," Clarie offered, much to Scully's disappointment.

"Well git out there and make sure of it! This could be lethal stuff! I didn't ask you to put it in there 'cause I was savin' it for a rainy day!" Clampett barked. She whirled round and disappeared from sight quickly. "Do you think I should call in the paramedics? Or maybe poison controls?"

"Let's not be too hasty. On the other hand," she leaned her head to one side and closed the Frigidaire, "it might be a good idea to have them on speed dial just in case."

"Which one?"

"Both. As you know, I am a doctor, but I don't have anything at my disposal for any catastrophic occurrences." Scully marched out of the kitchen with Clampett directly at her heels and scanned the restaurant as Clarie made her rounds with a pot of coffee. Thankfully, there were only four customers at the moment. One of them had the telltale waffles with the "raspberry syrup". And the unshaven trucker sitting in front of them was just about to take his first bite. "Stop!" Scully yelled at him.

The trucker dropped his fork immediately and gave her a disgusted frown. "What the hell's the matter with you, lady?"

Fortunately, Clarie understood without further explanation that he was the one with the unknown substance, and rushed over to him. "I'm sorry. I uh...um...just remembered that I saw the cook accidentally put some grenadine on your waffles while he was in back."

"Well, then, how'd she know?" the trucker rudely questioned her and jerked his thumb towards Scully. "You don't look like no cook to me." He sized her up as she crossed her arms rebelliously.

"I'll get you another plate," Clarie replied, stole the food before he could say another word, and exited back to the kitchen with both law enforcement officers right behind her. "I am so sorry," she whispered, set the waffles down on a counter, and hurried back to the irate trucker.

"At least we know that it's not an airborne toxin," Scully sighed as they both gazed at the waffles expectantly. "Nor does it appear to have interacted with its environment adversely. How long ago was that order filled?"

"I'll ask," Clampett nodded and pushed the door open. "Hey Clarie, how long ago did them waffles get made?"

"'Bout twenty minutes, I think. You still want your coffee?" she inquired noncommittally.

Clampett wiped a hand over his lips as he watched Scully carefully set the waffles back into the refrigerator. "Yeah," he responded and walked back to Scully. "Looks like it wasn't no bomb, neither."

"That's a premature conclusion. It's possible that the terrorist prepared this liquid to catalyze in the stomach, intestines, kidneys, or perhaps even the mouth." She sealed the Frigidaire shut with another post-it note. This time it read 'do not open!' "I hold you personally responsible for any consequences. This was an irresponsible action on your behalf, and if I were here on an official basis, I would've reported you to the CDC for negligence or possibly the NSA for aiding or abetting a known terrorist. What you did was about as ingenious as releasing a hungry wolf on a village of unarmed women and children."

"Hey, I left a note on it," he motioned to the previous post-it note, which was now lying on the floor.

"The statement on it was about as clear as the opacity of the Mississippi."

"Don't get your panties in a wad, Dana. I ain't happy 'bout it, either...-"

"Then act like it. And it's Scully from now on," she snapped, stormed out, and grabbed the mug full of coffee on her way out of the restaurant.

"Hey, hang on a minute." Clampett left a five dollar bill on the counter, also seized his coffee, and trailed her outside. "Do you think...ow..." he spilled some of the brown liquid onto his pants, "...that Mr. Mulder's right about this guy? This man bein' the son of Loki?"

"There are more important matters than that as of this second." Scully set her coffee on top of her rental's roof and removed her cell phone from its charger.

"Such as?"

"Finding out what that...stuff...is." She thumbed over her phone's contact list and drank some of her beverage.

"But don't you believe him?" Clampett invaded her personal space.

"Look, you wanted me to find out about that liquid, didn't you?"

"Oh yeah, I did, and I appreciate it, but I gotta know 'bout your trustin' this paranormal nut. I'm thinkin' 'bout callin' in some extra help."

"I trust him implicitly. And don't call him a nut." Scully's eyebrows furrowed as her search was beginning to prove fruitless.

"That's not what I'm asking ya."

"Then please clarify."

"Do ya think he's right?"

"Sheriff, I don't _have_ to be here. I can leave when I'd like, but I'm doing Mulder a favor, and at this point, you as well, so I would choose my words more carefully if I were you," she told him politely but candidly.

"I'm just askin' 'cause the mayor who happens to own the garbage collection bidness and the liquor store is askin' me. He wants to know if he should offer a two for one sale in his shop if the end of the world is truly comin' in three days."

"This is no time for levity." After she still did not find the number she wanted, she sighed in frustration, took a sip from her coffee, and dialed information.

"I was bein' dead serious," Clampett informed her and received an eye roll for his response.

"Yes, hello, I need the number for a local Food and Drug Administration Branch near Bradenton, Florida, please," Scully stated over the phone. "Or in Bradenton, if there is one."

"You still ain't answered my question."

She held up an index finger silently as she listened to the operator. "Yes. Mmhmm. Thank you. That's most helpful. You, too." Scully hung up and drank some more from her mug. "Now, Sheriff, what is it?"

"Do you believe your partner or not?!"

"His accuracy rating is above the ninety-fifth percentile," she shrugged.

"Have you ever dealt with a god before?"

"Personally, no, I have not. But I'm not sure about Mulder. He did start the X-Files Division, and no, he has not told me about all of his cases. I joined him about two years after he founded it."

"Why ain't he workin' there any more?"

"He was tired of the red tape." She paused and thought for a few silent moments. "Sheriff, if you need a negotiator to try and talk to this man, Mulder is the right person to do it. He rarely conjures up logic and rationale when he's hypothesizing, but however, when he's trying to calm a hostile or a suspect, it somehow switches right on. If I believed in magic, I'd probably give that as his ignition."

"Anything else you wanna add to that ramblin'?"

She scowled and opened the driver's door. "Yes, actually. I'll meet you at the delivery entrance where you can give me that flask. And this time, take a few more precautions when you're handling it, Sheriff."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

5110 Robert E. Lee Blvd., Wauchula, FL

June 3rd, 2001, 7:04 a.m.

Mulder's surveillance companion was about twenty years his senior. Normally, he regarded the older generation with great respect and admiration. However, this particular member of the party was a smoker and would be of no use whatsoever should running come into play. In fact, Mulder considered Hoss Cartwright a liability more than anything else at this point in time. But Hoss did have one advantage to Mulder; he did know Wauchula like the back of his hand.

Even now Mulder kept a peripheral eye upon Hoss as he loudly conversed with Deputy Gump over the radio. There had not been much activity over the last three hours in the house. Hoss claimed that the man identified as Farnor had walked in over four hours ago, but Mulder had yet to lay eyes upon the supposed Norwegian deity. His thoughts now turned to the man who called himself Lord Farnor. The last lecture he attended in Norse folklore was nine years ago--about a month before he met Scully, in fact. He was a bit rusty when it came to the actual details of the mythology, and it wouldn't hurt to rustle up the town librarian...if an edifice like it existed in the tiny hamlet of Wauchula.

Mulder was actually dying to know what a deity would be like in person, if there were such a thing. To him, gods were an idealism manufactured by men who wanted to blame or excuse the evils of the world upon--men who did not want to take responsibilities for their sins. And according to the Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and Norwegian legends, they made mistakes, too. If there were in fact a supreme God ruling over the earth, why would there be so much suffering? Why indeed would there be a need for the justice system? God is supposed to take care of everyone.

_You've heard of free will, haven't you, Mulder?_ Scully's gentle but patronizing voice asked him in his brain. _How can you be so willing to believe in everything else but in this?_

"Yep, Deputy, will do," Cartwright finished and set the microphone onto his dashboard as he undid his seatbelt. He retrieved his stun gun from the compartment underneath the front seat armrest and opened his car door.

"What's going on?" Mulder demanded.

"Gump wants us to bring the sonuvabitch in. You comin'?"

"Hold on a second, Hoss. This might not be such a good idea." Mulder lightly grasped Bradley by the arm before he could exit the car.

"How so? He's a criminal and a nut. Those are two good reasons right there."

"Didn't you hear anything I told you over the last three hours during our watch? Loki could turn himself into anything. There's no telling if his son has that same ability."

"Maybe he don't, and he was just jerkin' the Sheriff around. This is the backwoods of Florida, and a lotta outsiders like to try and pull the wool over our eyes 'cause they think we're all stupid. Well, I ain't. I watch America's Most Wanted. I read 'bout the psychology of the human mind."

_Have you ever tried practicing to read into it?_ Mulder wondered.

"Far be it from me to think that, Hoss, but I was an FBI agent for nearly sixteen years. I'm just saying that we should take some precautions first."

"I'm already wearin' a bulletproof vest," he tapped himself with his armed hand and loosened himself from Mulder's grip. "And you've got yourself a gun with real bullets. Let's nab the bastard with his pants down."

Mulder sighed as Cartwright left the vehicle and slammed his door shut rather loudly. "Are you comin' or what?' he yelled. Reluctantly, Mulder nodded silently and pursued him covertly. He withdrew his Walther .380 from his ankle holster and cocked the pistol as Cartwright peered into a side window. He quickly darted back around and kept his head down as he spotted some inside movement.

Mulder motioned for Cartwright to come closer, and as he did, he seized hold of him by his jacket. "I've never seen what Lord Farnor looks like and neither have you. So before we jump to any conclusions, let's just keep our cool," he hissed.

"Think you know everythin', don't ya?" Cartwright snarled and grabbed his clothing back.

They gradually made their way to the front door, which Mulder kicked down, and ran through while Cartwright covered him. "Lord Farnor, this is the Wauchula Police Department. Come out with your hands up; we just want to ask you some questions," Mulder commanded.

"What the hell're you smokin', boy? You ain't from the-"

Mulder held up his finger to his lips as the both of them heard some squeaking noises above their heads. The two of them checked all of the rooms on the ground floor as quietly as possible, and then Mulder crept up the stairs alone. He tried the first door and found nothing. _Monty, I'd like to try door #2._

The second room also proved empty except for some spiderwebs covering some rather ancient furniture from the 1950's. _Looks like no one's lived here for a long time._ More squeaking noises aroused Mulder's curiosity to the third and final door. Holding his breath and swallowing a large nervous gulp, he burst into the room and trained the gun all around. The adrenalin pumping through his body could not have prepared him enough for the terrifying and horrendous creature he saw crawling towards him. He tried to abstain it, but he could not muffle the entire girlish scream that came from his mouth with one hand.

"Mr. Mudcake? Ya awright up there? You need some help?" came Cartwright's scratchy voice.

Mulder tried to find words, but they would not come. His entire armed hand began to shake in the presence of the most dastardly and deadly inhabitant of Florida that he had prayed not to come into contact with--_**the cockroach**_. Finally, he mustered up some courage and his vocal chords rattled together awkwardly in a high pitch. "Lord Farnor, if I am addressing you correctly, stay right where you are."

The critter continued its evil walk towards him with complete disregard. "I'm warning you, Lord Farnor, if it's you, then I will resort to...to lethal force," Mulder regained his normal speech pattern back, but he still trembled as he stamped one foot onto the ground.

"Mr. Mudcake?"

"It's Mulder, and everything's fine. I've got our suspect. I hope," he mumbled the last part and shuffled backward as the cockroach continued towards him.

"In that case, do y'need some handcuffs? I betcha don't got any," Cartwright shouted.

"No. Would you happen to have a jar, though?"

"Don't think so. Suppose I could go out to the car and look for it. Are you sure that you've got him?"

"Not absolutely, no. But he might get away soon if I don't collect him," Mulder replied while keeping his mortified eyes upon the cockroach, who had now settled upon the tip of his Nike.

"You've got a gun; if he's got a brain, he won't go nowhere. Anyway, I'll be back in just a jiffy."

As soon as Mulder heard the front door slam, he became even more nervous. He slowly backed towards a window as he kept his left foot slightly raised so as not to disturb his suspect and gazed out at Cartwright. The older man got into the patrol car, started the engine, and shifted gears. "Hoss! What's going on?! Hoss?!" Mulder yelled.

The Ford police interceptor jerked forward in a cloud of dust, stopped, and then began to back up uncontrollably fast. Once Mulder saw where the car was headed, he forgot all about the creepy crawler on his foot, shook it off, and madly dashed downstairs. "Hoss!" He shot out the front door and started to waive his arms around furiously to stop his companion, but it was no use.

Hoss Cartwright either did not hear or regard Mulder. In fact, he floored the accelerator even harder. The squad car crashed right through the wooden fence and tumbled down into the ravine below. Orange balls of flame soared into the air as the vehicle exploded tumultuously.

Mulder rubbed his sweaty forehead and leaned over the broken fence to watch the wreck smolder into nothing. He then dug into his pants' pocket and pulled out his cell phone. As he reported the emergency to the operator, he swore that he saw someone or perhaps something lingering at the cistern not ten feet away from him. However, since it was still partially dawn, he could not positively identify the person. Mulder had an idea; Scully would think it was foolhardy, but she wasn't here to back him up, so what difference would that make now?

"Excuse me...Lord Farnor, is it?" he called out into the twilight, hoping that the mysterious silhouette would respond.

Indeed the shadow did, but unfortunately, it was not as Mulder had hoped. He slowly trudged towards the well and nearly tripped head over heels from a bucket of water nearby. Farnor was nowhere to be seen; or was he? "If you're here, Lord Farnor, I just want to talk. My name's Mulder, and I promise that I will not use this gun except in defense."

Mulder re-holstered his gun back to his ankle and kept his hands out in front of himself neutrally. "Hello? Are you still here? Look, I know that you probably thought that that volunteer was a threat, but he would have caused you no harm...or tried to interfere in your plans. I don't mean to do that either, unless you're wanting to hurt a human being." The silence was deafening and after waiting for another three minutes without a word, Mulder gave up and shuffled away. "Scully's got to be awake now," he mumbled to himself after glancing at the time on his phone.

Steak n'Shake # 1040, Wauchula, FL

June 3rd, 2001, 8:27 a.m.

"Hey there, honey, can I give you a refill?" a strawberry headed waitress interrupted Mulder's train of thought. Without another word, he removed his hand from the top of his empty coffee mug, and nudged it towards the pot she was holding above him. "Late night?" she inquired cheerfully as she poured the coffee freely.

He nodded dolefully and scooped two heaping teaspoons of sugar into the hot but welcoming drugged beverage. "Would you be likin' to have somethin' to eat, too, sugah?"

Mulder finally made eye contact with his perky server, who was still beaming at him with one of the rosiest complexions he'd ever seen this early in the morning. The only rationale that his brain could accept was that she'd already had about three or four cups; no one could be this mirthful before nine o'clock without the assistance of some hyperventilating drug.

"Eventually, I guess," he answered her despondently. "I'm just not in the mood right now. My stomach tells me otherwise, though."

"Well, I'm sure I could have Carl whip somethin' up to put a smile on that Eeyore frown. My name's Gerri, by the way."

Mulder stirred his coffee in both directions as he glumly pondered why on earth Scully didn't answer her cell phone when he had rung her six times in the last ten minutes. He left her voicemails each time but the last--at that point, he'd almost thrown his mobile down in anger but then remembered that he'd have to pay for anything that happened to the cell phone.

So he'd gone back to the bed and breakfast after briefly telling Deputy Gump at the scene what happened on the stakeout, hoping to receive some comfort or at least a quickie, but there was no one in the cabin. Scully had left a brief note on the nightstand saying that Sheriff Clampett had called and asked her to come to the Steak n'Shake earlier. She was hoping to meet him there for breakfast; however, when Mulder came in for a rendezvous, she was nowhere to be seen. _Now who's ditching who?_

"Um, Gerri, how long have you been here?" Mulder asked her suddenly.

"All my life, mister. I'm thirty-eight years old, and I'm a natural Floridian. And those are becomin' just as rare as them manatees, lemme tell ya." She set the coffee pot back onto its burner and removed a notepad from her serving apron.

"I meant in this restaurant. How many hours have you been here?"

"I start at six thirty. Why?" Gerri questioned him and started to write on the pad.

"Did you happen to see a beautiful but short red head come in with Sheriff Clampett this morning? She probably would have been well dressed despite the hour."

"Hmm...I served some bacon n'eggs to Sheriff Clampett, but I didn't see nobody with any auburn curls with him." She gasped and laid a hand across her chest. "Oh...honey...! Are you suspectin'...is that why you're in such a bad mood this mornin'? Is she your wife?"

"Well, no, but...-"

"Oh my heart goes out to you, mister, it really does." Gerri set the notepad down onto the counter in front of him and began to rub his arm compassionately. "I been married and divorced three times. All of 'em cheated on me--even caught the last one doin' it with the mistress right in my own goddamned bed! If he didn't have a faster pair o'legs than mine, he woulda gotten his nuts sawed off right there!"

_That sounds rather painful. I thought Scully was the most dangerousred head I'd ever met._

"I hope you meant that figuratively," Mulder said timidly.

"Oh no, I didn't. I have a hacksaw right underneath my kitchen sink. I'd got in in my hands, but like I said..." she shrugged and removed her hand from him. "She your girl, then?"

"I suppose you could say that, but...she wouldn't cheat on me."

"That's what everybody says." Gerri cleared her throat. "So am I gonna get you somethin' to eat or not?"

"What're your steaks like here?"

"Well, mister, there's a reason why we're called Steak n'Shake. What'll it be?" She raised her arms to her hips after retrieving her notebook and pen.

"I'll have one medium rare...with two eggs sunny side up," he told her and gulped down some of his coffee.

"Comin' right up, honey." Gerri scribbled his order down and turned around to leave. Just as she was about to pass through the swinging door to the kitchen, she glanced at the restaurant's entrance. "Hey, Mr. Kowolski. Be back in five minutes."

"Mornin', Gerri," a man with jet black hair and brown eyes acknowledged her. He was in his late forties, a bit overweight, and chose to seat himself right next to Mulder. If he had not been introduced as "Mr. Kowolski", then Mulder would have mistaken him for Jackie Gleason. He was almost a true double. And if he started to speak with a Brooklyn accent, Mulder would then certainly have to splash some water into his own face to wake himself up from this very odd dream.

"You must be Mr. Fox Mulder," the man began and offered a very large hand across the ex-FBI agent's face. "As you've heard, the name's Kowolski. Professor Stanley Kowolski, of Hardee Community College."

This was the first person without a Southern dialect Mulder had met in the last twenty-four hours. He was very relieved but also surprised at the same time as he shook Kowolski's hand. "How'd you-"

"Deputy Gump rang me earlier this morning and told me all about you. He suggested that I join you here; he mentioned that you might need some guidance in Norse mythology. I specialize in many sorts of legend, but I must admit that I favor the Scandinavian amongst the rest."

"Why's that?" Mulder wondered and took another gulp of his noir java.

"Well, the gods were a bit more distant with humans than in Greek, Roman, or Egyptian myths. Don't get me wrong; they still intermingled, of course, but...it just reminds me of my own...detachment with the culture I have here. And I can relate to the Norwegian gods' aloof relationships."

"I'm rather surprised that Deputy Gump remembered that I told him anything about Norse lore."

"Perhaps you'd better keep that feeling, then. He only said the words 'Loki' and 'Farnor'. I just...connected the dots as it were...from there. Of course he wasn't completely Neanderthal in his conversation as I would make it seem, but there are times when I do wonder how close his genes come to the gorilla family."

"Then let me ask you...um...do you prefer the title Doctor or Professor?"

"Professor, please. I only have a Master of the Arts; not a doctorate."

"Um...Professor, do you think that it's possible that...well...-"

"Do I perceive this man to be telling the truth or hallucinating?" Mulder nodded, and Kowolski paused as Gerri the waitress returned.

"Mister, your steak n'eggs platter will be about ten more minutes. Professor, would you be likin' to have your usual?"

"That'll be fine, Gerri, thank you." Thankfully, four more people walked in the door, and Gerri strolled purposefully towards them.

"How're you doin', folks?"

Kowolski waited until she was out of hearing range and kept his voice low. "I would have to see and hear this man's claims for myself before making a hasty judgment. I'm more inclined _not_ to believe in myths or legends since I do study them as a profession; however, I have been wrong in the past. I cannot dismiss anything that he says as outright lunacy--that I would leave to a psychologist or psychiatrist."

"But if you heard him speak or had a conversation with him, you'd be able to tell if he were making up part of the Norwegian stories, right?" Mulder asked.

"Correct."

"I'd like to brush up on my apocalypses, Professor. According to Farnor, we've got less than," Mulder glanced at a Mickey Mouse clock above their heads, "sixty-three hours left in the world."

"Well, that's a bit of a time constraint for getting everything done that I ever wanted to do in life," Kowolski chuckled and gladly received a cup of tea from another attendant. "But at least it's more generous than just twenty-four hours."

Mulder put down his mug and gave his companion an incredulous look.

"Yes, I know that I sounded like a scoundrel when I said that. I suppose I should've said something like 'you're kidding' or 'are you mad' or perhaps even 'what should I pack'? But as you know, I deal in several different viewpoints in my career. Oh yes, I said I specialize in mythology, but it's necessary for me to be familiar with all the faiths of the earth. Each one has an end to it--with the exception of Buddhism...unless you call being 'one with everything' an end."

"What about atheism?"

"That one's the most obvious, don't you think?" Kowolski reached in front of Mulder for the sugar and stirred some into his beverage. "Death."

"Yeah, I guess that sounds right. So, if I remember my Norse fables correctly, the end of the world is called Ragnarok?"

"Yes, you are right."

"And Loki has something to do with it. From there, my memories kind of fade into the sunset."

Gerri came back behind the counter and pushed her way into the kitchen. Ten seconds later, she arrived with their meals, refilled Mulder's half-empty mug, and patted him on the arm before leaving to attend the other customers. "Enjoy, sugah."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather continue that part of our conversation elsewhere. Deputy Gump requested that I keep a low profile with you, so as not to raise any suspicions with the general population," Kowolski said and gently inserted a spoon into his grapefruit.

"Okay, where?"

"Here's my card," the Professor fished it out of his pants' pocket and placed the card onto the counter next to Mulder. "We can talk there without too much interference."

Mulder picked up the square, thin piece of cardboard and examined it. "Why is your office in a butcher's shop?"

"Oh, sorry, I suppose I should have told you. That is my second profession."

"What?!" Mulder almost dropped his fork and steak knife. "I guess I just haven't gotten used to the jack-of-all trade thing going on in this town yet. Tell me, Professor, is there anyone in Wauchula who _doesn't_ have two jobs or more?"

"There are few; but in all honesty, some of us must do so to make ends meet. As you know, I am a college professor, but sometimes, I can't get enough of an interest or sign-up for my classes at Hardee Community. Unfortunately, people here prefer to eat more than they do than to learn post secondary education, so there I am." He spooned the grapefruit into his mouth greedily. "So what drew you to the world of the paranormal?"

"How far back do you wanna go?" Mulder replied quietly. "I've got a long history."

"That, my dear man, is precisely my cup of tea, so to speak." Kowolski lifted the cup, toasted it towards Mulder, and raised it to his lips.

"Would you mind if I made a call to the Sheriff first? I'd like to find out where my partner is." Mulder's hand went to his pocket.

"By all means, please do so."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

I-75 South, near Bradenton, FL

June 3rd, 2001, 3:10 p.m.

Scully thumbed her way down her phone's contact list and dialed Byer's cell phone. She had not heard a peep from any of them; could it actually be that they understood how to look after a child? _Well_, she reasoned, _rats in mazes do eventually find the cheese at the end no matter how many dead ends they run into._

"Hello, Agent Scully," Byers' greeted her calmly.

"Hello, Byers, how're things going for the three of you?" she returned.

"Very well, Agent Scully. Everything is under control, and your child is taking his afternoon nap as we speak."

She switched lanes on the freeway and noticed that the traffic was gradually beginning to slow down. _Crap._ "Do I have the right phone number?"

"Of course you do, Scully. No, wait a minute, Frohike, I'm talking to her..."

Scully slammed her foot onto the brakes as a Chevy Tahoe cut her off. "Asshole!" she screamed at the driver. There was a bit of a pause on the other half of the line. "Hello? Byers, are you still there?"

"Yes. I'm just...wondering if I said something wrong," he replied meekly.

"Sorry, I'm driving on the highway, and some creep just pulled right in front of me. Did you say Frohike wanted to talk to me?"

"He did, but I had a few more things that I wanted to say to you first...-" She heard a few muffled grunts and finally, someone prevailed to reach the phone.

"Well, how are we doing, my delicious government agent?"

"Relatively fine, until thirty seconds ago, Frohike. I'm stuck in what apparently is a traffic jam on a Sunday on a Florida freeway," she groaned.

"Mulder's not there with you, is he?"

"No; I don't anticipate that I'll be in his presence anytime soon, either."

"Good, then, I have a question to ask."

"I'm all yours."

"I know you are, my delectable dear. But anyhow, do you know a fellow FBI agent by the name of Sabrina Wazir?"

"Mmmhmm...we've met." _Unfortunately._

"So she exists?" Frohike went on.

"On this plane of existence, I would affirm that statement."

"Will you _please _give it back? Think of the backdrop of Lahaina, Melvin." Byers' annoyed voice was in the background.

"Fine," the little man muttered.

A few seconds later, Byers was on the line once more. "I must apologize for that, Agent Scully."

"Don't worry; I'm not going anywhere for a while thanks to that accident," she sighed. "But what does Lahaina, Maui have to do with?"

"Uh...um...Frohike's been working on a project involving one."

"One what?"

"Backdrop."

"Oh...kay. So, you're not having any troubles with Will?"

"None whatsoever. Things have been sailing as smooth as glass," Byers assured her. "How're you doing down there with Mulder?"

"Let's just say that I'm remembering why I dislike Florida so much," Scully remarked through her gritted teeth and glared at a driver that just flipped her off. She started to search the rental's glove compartment but came up short. _Damnit. I left the SIG in the trunk. Things would probably have gone a little bit faster with it._

"Well, we're glad you called, and um...when do you think you'll be home in D.C.?" Byers questioned her.

"Doesn't look like I'll be home tomorrow--or if so, it'll be very late. Do you guys have plans? Will I need to call my mom to take over? I think she'll be back in town tonight from California."

"We're fine for now, I think. But on Tuesday, if you're not back, we do have a few appointments in New York for an article to make."

"All right. Thanks again, Byers. I've got to get going; Mulder's called me several times, and I should probably return his calls."

"How many messages did he leave?"

"I think about five or six."

"Sounds like he's in a panic without you. Goodbye, Agent Scully. Sorry you're stuck in traffic; hope things get better." He disconnected the call, and Scully pressed the number one on her phone.

"I've been trying to reach you for hours; where the hell have you been?!" Mulder's alarmed voice practically yelled.

"Down to Bradenton and Sarasota to run some tests. They fixed I-75, by the way. And Mulder, this so called 'magic potion' your crackpot perpetrator gave to Sheriff Clampett was nothing more than artificial corn syrup and red dye number two. I'm pretty sure that he probably just poured a bunch of Gatorade with some grenadine into the flask. Sorry I wasn't there to meet you for breakfast."

"I guess that's good news," he pouted. "Where are you now?"

"Oh, on my way back to you, though I won't be there for a while. There was some kind of accident; from the looks of things, a tanker dropped a crap load of oil all over the interstate. Where are you?"

"Finding out some more about Norwegian myths from a scholar. I'm surprised this town actually has one."

"Did you come into contact with our suspect?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? Either you did or you didn't, Mulder. Sheriff Clampett knows what he looks like."

"Remember what I said earlier this morning about Loki?"

"This day has been _way_ too long," she muttered. "I suppose you're referring to the fact that he could morph into anything. Well, if that's really true, Mulder, didn't Farnor say that he was planning on going to the ends of the earth to release his father from Helheim?"

"How'd you know that?"

"Sheriff Clampett told me this morning." Traffic was now beginning to move faster as she passed the accident. "Anyway, I also ran the flask for latents and found several. After clearing Clampett's trail, there were more."

"More fingerprints?"

"Yep. So sorry to disappoint you, Mulder, but...-"

"He's not a god."

"I would not draw that conclusion from this data, no," Scully drawled. "However, his prints did not match any of the NCIC's databases. So he's not been entered into our crime system before."

"He could still be the son of a god, though. Hercules was the son of Zeus, you know," Mulder argued. "But he did not possess any supernatural powers other than incredible strength."

"And I have some more news. Mr. Opie Taylor, 37, of Wauchula did not die of a cold. He was an addict, Mulder, and he died of AIDS as I already had suspected."

"What about the tuberculosis?"

"His immune system was pretty much debunked by the virus, and I suppose tuberculosis was a secondary cause of death. But that's what the mass spectrometer found when I took the hair, tissue, and blood samples to Lab Corps to be analyzed earlier today."

"And what about the fact that he was as stiff as a board when I touched him? The doc did have him out of the freezer for a while."

"Well, considering that Dr. Van Winkle is a gentleman of older years, he might not have remembered to distribute preservatives over the body properly before refrigerating Mr. Taylor. I _knew_ that there was something wrong after I finished that autopsy."

"And what gave you that impression?"

"I didn't have to spend an extra half an hour cleaning the formaldehyde from myself as usual."

There was a brief pause as Mulder breathed heavily into the phone.

"You're disappointed," she commented.

"You could say that." Again, there was silence, which made her roll her eyes. _He's brooding again, _she thought. "Mulder, do I have to drag everything out of you today? You're upset over something; now why won't you tell me what it is?"

"It's just that...I thought we were making some progress. We're nearly back to where we started nine years ago."

"How so?" Scully jerked her car over into the passing lane and sped by a BMW M5 that was just doing the speed limit.

"Well, I spouted off my theories, you spouted off yours, and all your evidence makes me come across like some kind of babbling idiot."

"Did I say that? I don't recall that part of our conversation."

"No, Scully, you _never_ say it; you can just imply it at times."

"Mulder, I have never thought of you to be an idiot. Even when I first met you, I knew you were brilliant. We disagree on many things, you know that." She tapped her foot harder to the accelerator. "But that's what makes us work and appreciate one another. I'm sorry if this case seems to be a hoax or counterfeit, but that's how some of them turn out. At least it has answers. I was just presenting one like it to Tony Capricci on Friday that occurred in South Carolina."

"Yeah, well, I _don't_ think it's fake. And neither does the professor I've been consulting with."

"Oh, what does he have to say?"

"He says that there's been a private plane booked to fly to Buenos Aires in three hours, and that the strip is half an hour from Wauchula. Guess who's planning to fly to South America and then to Antarctica?"

"Mulder, you're not going to do what I think you're going to do..."

"This makes us even for today, Scully." _Click._

"Oh, you did _not_ just hang up on me, Mulder," she fumed and passed another person that was only doing seventy-five miles per hour.

MTM Bed & Breakfast, Wauchula, FL

June 3rd, 2001, 3:38 p.m.

After a shower and plenty of cologne, Mulder nearly felt as good as new. He swore that he still smelled some of the butcher shop on himself, but perhaps his mind was playing tricks. Professor Kowolski promised to meet him at quarter to five to accompany him to the county's airstrip. Mulder almost wished that it were sooner so that there would be absolutely no chance of Scully getting back to stop him from going. There was no chance of that. And this evening's planned activities could wait until the twelfth of never, so far as he cared now.

Scully's patronizing was the last straw. How could she even dare to call him brilliant when she twisted the facts around like that? He understood that Taylor died being a junkie; he had no argument there. However, her suggestion that Farnor was a lunatic and a so-called "crackpot" made him furious. Farnor knew far too much about Norse fables and the earth in general as Clampett described him; it was impossible _not_ to believe. Even the skeptical Kowolski agreed with him after hearing Clampett tell his tale over the phone.

Mulder zipped on a new, clean pair of blue jeans, threw a black t-shirt over his neck, and looked at himself in the mirror. He could stand a shave--he did look a little scrubby. A knock at the door distracted him from that chore, and he answered it. "You've got a key. Why didn't you use it?" he growled at Scully and traveled back to the vanity counter.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I guess I forgot it earlier," she returned and entered the cabin.

"What're you doing here? You made it sound like it was going to be hours before you got back." He removed his razor and shaving cream from his toiletries bag.

"I exaggerated a bit, I suppose. What's wrong, Mulder? You look angry."

"They should give an award for the 'most obvious comment of the year' to you, Scully." He gave her a sidelong frown but gave his attention back to the mirror as he lathered his cheeks.

"Did Sheriff Clampett or Deputy Gump do something? Was it something I said?"

"Getting warmer."

Scully gingerly journeyed towards him and laid a hand on his bare arm. "Hey."

"What is it?" he sighed and leaned forward to start shaving his right cheek.

"I missed you today," she came back softly and began to rub his forearm.

"You really picked a helluva time to say that." Mulder turned on the cold water and rinsed the razor in the sink.

"Well, it's true. I felt like...I don't know...a part of me wasn't on the road today, and I missed it."

"Yeah?"

Scully reached around his front and gently took hold of the razor in his hand. "Let me."

"I'm not in the mood, Scully."

"Please," she whispered into his ear and teased the lobe with a tug of her lips.

That action made him swallow nearly all of his anger, and he relinquished the razor to her waiting hands. "All right. But I'm still upset with you," Mulder responded.

"Why?" She unbuttoned her suit coat, pushed him away from the sink, and stood in front of him while she followed where he'd left off shaving.

"Because of your insinuations--sometimes your damn logic and scientific methods get to me, Scully. You make me out to be the clumsy stupid kid who's arguing with the teacher that's always right."

"Do I?" She pulled his chin down as she reached it with the razor. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but that's just who I am. I don't mean to sound like that to you or anyone else. My singular intention in this case wasn't just to prove you wrong."

"Then pray tell, what was it?"

She brought him close to her mouth but they weren't quite touching skin yet.

"I think you know," she breathed and briefly sucked upon his lower lip. Before he could make another action, she let go and dragged the razor onto his left cheek.

"Thought our date was for tonight."

"Consider this as an appetizer," Scully cooed, rinsed off the razor behind herself, and repeated the same action as she did before to his mouth.

"If you're trying to convince me not to see Farnor, this isn't going to work." Mulder shook his head and tried to grab the razor back. "My mind's already made up."

"I won't try to make you do anything, Mulder. It is entirely _your_ decision." She let go and draped her hand around the back of his neck. "Want me to go with you?"

"Well, I...--I..." He set the razor onto the sink as he thought over his decision. "This doesn't sound like the Scully I know talking."

"No? I just made a very logical conclusion--that once you've got an idea into that hot mind of yours, it's damned near impossible to stop you." Her other hand slithered down his abdomen and landed right where he was praying she wouldn't go. And it raked lazily across him.

"Scully, I'll be meeting Professor Kowolski in less than an hour," he squeaked as she hit a rather sensitive area with her fingertips.

"I wasn't thinking about taking that long." She finally seized his mouth with hers and let him have it. He was overwhelmed by her assault--the sensations she gave his lips, the drag of her nails through his hair, and the clincher was being cruelly attacked down south. But she allowed him time to respond, and boy, was he a willing participant in this skirmish.

The most odd part of it was that she didn't even need to remove one piece of clothing on him or herself to keep enticing him. All the other women he'd been with had to at least take their shoes off. But here was a fully dressed Scully ready to do anything with or to him. That now included her hands' invasion beneath his t-shirt underneath his back, scraping her fingernails up and down him with long strokes.

She let him take command of their entwined mouths as she focused her rough energy upon his back, and suddenly she broke free to strip him of the t-shirt. "Damn, woman, what's gotten into you?" Mulder wondered aloud once he could speak.

Scully said nothing but took a large breath and went harshly to his neck. She still clawed at him lightly, and he felt her teeth bury themselves into his flesh. He hissed with pleasure, tossed his head backward, and pushed her roughly against the sink. "Whoa, woman, you _are_ hungry today."

"Only when I know what I want," she answered him in between bites. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"Just the opposite, and I hope you're ready to be reciprocated."

"Not on your life, g-man. You are gonna get it all."

"Scully, what about the excursion I promised you earlier today? Ooh, wow, you are feisty," Mulder gasped as she traveled to the other side of his neck.

"That can wait." Her arms wrapped themselves around his waist, and she guided them away from the bathroom area to the beds after returning to his lips. For a woman of only five feet three inches and weighing less than one ten, she could sure shove a man around. And as he suspected, that was her next move; they ended up on his bed with her on top. He strangely remembered telling her a fantasy kind of like this a few years ago; little did he dream then that it'd come true now.

4:25 p.m.

Mulder woke from his mini-nap to find the other side of the bed vacant. After slipping his boxers back on, he got up from the bed. "Scully?" he called sleepily.

When he received no answer, he checked the bathroom and came up empty. He trudged back into the bedroom and picked up a note scrawled on some of the room's stationery. Mulder could barely read it, but the note told him that Scully received a phone call from Sheriff Clampett about Farnor and went back to the police station to meet him there. He finished dressing himself, forgetting completely about his rendezvous, and hurried out the door to his Mustang.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Hardee County Sheriff's Office, Wauchula, FL

June 3rd, 2001, 4:32 p.m.

"Sheriff? Scully? Hello?" Mulder called as he strolled through the front door. Something did not seem right to him; his "Spooky sense" was making all the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. But yet he _had_ to know what was going on here.

Clampett's squad car was outside, but inside, no one was at the reception area. It was possible that the cop had gone to the john, but there was no response from the outhouse when Mulder had gone around back earlier.

So now as he made his way through station, he removed his Walther .380 from his ankle holster and shifted the magazine to load a bullet into the firing chamber. The door separating the jail from the rest of the office was wide open, which now even made him more paranoid.

He stepped to one side of the open door, took a quick look around the corner, and strafed back. Seeing no immediate threat, he cautiously entered the hallway. A few muffled cries lead him further down the block, but unfortunately, he did not see the tripwire across the ninety degree corner. His ankles eventually led to his downward movement, forcing him to drop the gun, and he was shoved from behind right into a cell. The door slammed shut right after he stumbled onto the cement floor. _Damnit. Not again._

Mulder rose onto his hands and knees then slowly got up and turned to witness Scully turning the lock with Clampett's keys. "What's gotten into you?" he asked.

After she succeeded her task, she tossed the keys through a slightly ajar window, and slipped through Mulder's cell bars. "Didn't you say something about a rough night in the pokey?" she whispered and hung her arms around his neck.

"Okay, you are definitely _not_ Scully." It suddenly dawned on him that she had just passed through a solid object, and he unhooked himself from her grasp immediately. "Just what in the hell _are_ you?"

"I believe that that 'most obvious comment award' goes back to you, Mulder," she smirked.

"Oh, God." That remark had been passed by him not an hour ago, and that was made to the Scully that had just blown his mind along with some other things. "All right. Now I really want to know who you are." And the fact that he had enjoyed it _all _made him exceptionally nervous.

"Don't you relish me in this form?" She sneaked her hands into his pockets, grabbed his cell phone, and threw it into a wall. The phone smashed into thousands of pieces instantaneously.

"What _are _you?" he snapped and pushed her away from himself.

"I thought you'd be glad to finally meet. Weren't you looking for me?" Scully changed into Lord Farnor, and he passed through other side of the bars again.

"I never heard of any of the gods having the power to travel through solid matter before," Mulder commented.

"That is an incorrect judgment," Farnor stated and frowned.

"Don't you have a plane to catch?"

"There are other methods of travel available to me."

"Namely what?"

"A human could not possibly fathom our technology, and if I tried to explain it to your finite mind, I'd probably martinize your cerebrum."

"So why do you want to destroy the world?" Mulder flatly inquired.

"All things must come to an end."

"Yeah, but-"

"I _did_ give one of your beings a chance to save your world."

"You couldn't have possibly given your formula to a more stupid person."

Farnor shrugged and gave him a coy smile.

"Or was your formula meant to do anything in the first place? My _real_ partner had it analyzed and said that it was basically nothing more than just fruit punch."

"I suppose your civilization will never know, will it? The instructions given were not followed; therefore, it has been rendered inactive."

"Is it possible to get a second chance? Can you bring some more?"

"I apologize, but it is not. Travel from Gladsheim in the Asgard world to your world limits the supplies we can bring. I have not quite comprehended the reason why yet, but that will no longer matter soon." Farnor rolled up his left sleeve and gazed upon his many wrist watches.

"You still haven't explained how you can pass through stuff."

"I need not explain myself to a human being."

"Last time I checked, gods didn't have fingerprints. You can't be a deity."

"Ah, so there _are_ some among you that utilize your craniums. It's too bad that your species cannot be saved."

"There's got to be something more to do," Mulder pleaded.

"There is not. Ragnarok will come; my father will play his part as well as my other brothers and sister."

"And how do you intend to bring about a worldwide snowstorm if you're not a god?"

"Since my arrival, several members of our fleet have descended upon your atmosphere with our meteorological transmogrifiers." Farnor put his left sleeve back down and rolled his right up for Mulder to see. The blinking object had several green LEDs and resembled a diamond bracelet. "I carry a transmitter, as do several others on your earth."

"So you're not acting alone on this?"

"Affirmative. There is another member of my team in this tiny hamlet; he is under the guise of a historical professor. I believe you met him already."

"Kowolski," Mulder nodded. "I had a feeling that he was too intelligent to really belong to this town." After a beat, he continued. "But why are you doing this? If you're not a god, then why would you claim to be one?"

"I chose a form that humans could relate to and comprehend in order to give your kind one last chance. Professor Kowolski, as you know him, had tried and failed."

"But what about...-"

"There were various others we have used; Babe Ruth, Willie Mays, Michael Jordan...and more recently, Mark McGwire. But now there is no choice."

"How many more of you are there on earth?"

"I cannot answer that question. But if you'll excuse me, I must now leave."

"Wait a second." Farnor was about to exit through the door leading to the outside world, but he hesitated as he listened to Mulder. "How can you transmit the code to destroy the earth if you're still on it? What is this, some kind of suicide mission?"

"The process only requires that the transmitters remain present on earth in their active state--and it does not necessitate a bearer," he replied ambiguously. "You're right, Mr. Mulder, it is too bad that I did not meet you in that establishment of dietary supplements. The end for Earth could have been quite more positive and...different."

"Fmufu...fmufu...mufu!" another voice shouted as loud as he could. Farnor's attention turned to a restrained and gagged Sheriff Clampett in a cell next to Mulder's.

"And your kind has this astute baboon to thank for its destruction," Farnor sneered.

"I have only one more question; I've been searching for life elsewhere all my life. And now that you've found Earth, all you want to do is destroy it? Why?" Mulder demanded.

"To make way for our civilization. Now that we fully comprehend that our two cultures cannot co-exist, there is only one logical conclusion: one must be eradicated."

"Is this your true form...as this Scandinavian blonde male?" Farnor's left eyebrow raised upwards as he reached for a button on his belt. "I must know, please."

"It is not. This is a projected image. That is why I was able to pass through matter so easily."

"But how did you...well...um..." Mulder cleared his throat embarrassingly.

Farnor gave him a half-smile in reply and depressed the button.

"Fmufu! Fmufufmufu...fmufumfumfufu...mmmmufu!" Clampett's muted voice exclaimed through the tape covering his lips.

MTM Bed & Breakfast, Wauchula, FL

June 3rd, 2001, 5:00 p.m.

As Scully parked her rented sedan in front of their cabin, a strange man resembling Jackie Gleason wearing a bloodied apron and glasses sat upon a parking block just outside of it. Alarms were blaring in her head warning her of immediate danger and that Mulder could also be in trouble, so she got out of the car very gingerly, keeping her hand rested upon the covered SIG in her hip holster.

The man arose when she approached the cabin and held out his hand in greeting with a smile. The hand itself was not bloody, but Scully still eyed it. "I'm told that you are Dana Scully--partner and confidant to Mr. Fox Mulder, are you not?" he asked with a welcoming beam.

"Yes, and you are...-"

"How silly of me. I am Professor Stanley Kowolski, of Hardee Community College." He observed her wary body language and gazed down at his apron.

"Please forgive my appearance. When I am not able to teach, I must provide for myself otherwise, namely...with meat slaughtering."

"Oh." Her hand left the gun and clasped his finally. "It's odd that Mulder didn't mention that earlier. So you're a butcher?"

"Mmm, yes," Kowolski agreed. "I was supposed to meet him not long ago. That is why I rushed to get here straight from work."

"And you were going to go find your Norwegian god with him, I see," Scully said and nodded. "You tried knocking, right?"

"I am aware of that means of communication, yes, and I did try."

"Well, given Mulder's pattern of unpredictable behavior..." _especially when he's upset with me,_ she thought, "...I'd say he left on his own already."

"I find that difficult to believe; I was supposed to guide him to the airstrip," Kowolski told her as she unlocked the door.

"Stay behind me, please," she ordered and he obeyed. Scully stayed clear of the door as she pushed it wide open and pulled the SIG off of her hip. "Mulder?" she shouted and entered the darkened cabin.

Moments later after searching and finding no one, she motioned for Kowolski to enter. As he stepped through the door jamb, he noticed a singular object in the trash can nearest a bureau of drawers. "Hello, what's this?" he inquired of himself and picked it up. Just as he had unrolled the crinkled ball, Scully politely snatched it from him.

"I don't remember writing this," she commented and frowned. She traveled over to the bedside night stands, turned on one of the lights and held the note up to examine it further. "This isn't my handwriting."

"What does it say?"

"I think..." she paused to decipher the hieroglyphs, " that I went to see Sheriff Clampett because he called me about Farnor."

"And did _you_ yourself actually receive a phone call?" Kowolski asked.

"No, I did not." Scully laid the crinkled paper down on the night stand and arose from her bed to scrutinize Mulder's. The sheets were rumpled, but yet she remembered in her brief exploration of the cabin that there were fresh towels in the bathroom. Gump's housekeeper had positively been here, and she would not have left one bed unmade.

"Something in this situation does not add up; that makes me nervous," she mumbled the latter part of her commentary.

"I think it does," Kowolski answered her unasked question. "Lord Farnor was here with your partner substituting your presence."

"I didn't quite...catch that." Scully's eyes roamed over the sheets, and she picked up one of the pillows.

"I said that Lord Farnor was here with your..." He trailed off as she found a small golden hooped earring, and her eyes instantaneously narrowed to near slits.

"Never mind. I understand now," she nodded and licked her upper lip. "What time was Farnor's flight supposed to leave?"

"Six o'clock, I believe. What're you going to do?"

"In that case, you'd better draw me a map and give me directions to get there since I'm the one that has a gun."

Kowolski agreed and picked up a pen from the nightstand along with a pad of paper. "Okay. Just take I-75 North for about fifteen minutes or so." He drew a few lines as he spoke. He then set the paper onto the table and ran his finger along the drawing. Scully leaned forward with interest. "Then you'll be wanting to exit here at number one sixty."

Unfortunately, she was giving him her full attention and not minding where his other hand went, which was right beneath his apron. Before she could defend herself, he immediately withdrew a French knife and grabbed her by the wrist. "I am sorry, my dear, but I cannot allow you to stop Lord Farnor, not so long as it is within my power to do so," he declared himself piously.

"Freeze, dirt bag!" Deputy Gump bellowed at the top of his lungs from the cabin's open entrance. Kowolski's eyes turned towards his new assailant but still kept his hold upon Scully. "Drop your weapon, or else Jenny'll drop your head clean off your shoulders." He raised the barrel of the shotgun for his aim to kill.

Kowolski completely disregarded him and lifted the knife.

"I wasn't kidding, asshole!" Gump again yelled, but this time, he shot the Professor right in the skull.

The shot did not quite have the immobilizing effect that the Deputy had intended; it merely caused Kowolski's hologram to disappear, and he dropped Scully's hand. However, the knife still trained on her. "Drop it!" Scully shouted after finally being able to seize her automatic pistol from its hiding place on her hip.

The knife changed hands but did not fall to the ground. Without another moment to lose, both law enforcement officials fired their guns. Scully's shot hit the alien in his right temple, and Gump's (as he claimed) separated Kowolski's head directly from his shoulders. All that remained of Kowolski tumbled to the floor in a very visible puddle of sky blue goop; the sludge oozed out of the body and onto Scully's dress boots. She immediately backed away from him, put her gun away, leaned against a dresser, and inspected her feet. As she suspected, yet another pair of her expensive footwear was destroyed by an alien wound. "Guess that makes three," she sighed.

"Sorry for bein' an eavesdropper, but I guess it's kind of a good thing that I did," Gump apologized sheepishly and lowered his shotgun as he walked inside.

"I certainly agree," Scully nodded as she unzipped her boots.

"What the hell just happened? I mean, we had to fire three whole shots at his head 'fore he went down." He scratched the back of his head and peered at the blue ooze that was still seeping from the body.

"I just ruined a good pair of boots, that's what just happened," she mumbled and rifled through her duffel bag for another pair.

"I was referrin' to the weirdo over yonder that's bleedin' what looks like...paint or somethin', I dunno."

"Don't step in it--the matter has got to be pure acid if it burned a hole in my boots like this," Scully stated and held up one for him to examine while she slipped into some other shoes.

"That's fer sure. Whewee."

She distanced herself close enough to the corpse to view it but far enough away just to be on the safe side. "There's nothing here but clothes," she remarked. "Now I'm _very_ perplexed."

"Me, too. Look, Agent Scully, since I know 'zactly where this private airstrip is and time ain't on our side, I'll just take a couple of my volunteers with me to stop this boy from goin' anywhere but straight to jail without passin' go."

"All right, Deputy, but I'd be very careful if I were you. We don't know how many more of these 'things' are disguising themselves as mere everyday citizens."

"I'll know, don't you worry. Anybody that uses them ten dollar words in their regular vocabulary should be 'nuff of a tip off. Well, I'd best be goin'. You want me to send anybody with ya over to the station?"

"It's not necessary, thank you." He handed her the decimated boot and left. Scully pulled out her cell phone from her pocket and tried to dial Mulder's number. "We're sorry, but the mobile number you are trying to reach is not available or out of service. Please try back again later," the automated, sexless voice told her.

"Shit," she swore and flipped the phone shut.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Minutes later, at the Hardee County Sheriff's Office...

"I had a feeling that I'd find you here," Scully marveled as she journeyed down the hall towards Mulder and Clampett's imprisonment. "What in the burning blazes of Hell happened to the two of you?" She eyed the bound and gagged sheriff first, then transfixed her attention upon Mulder.

"You know very well what happened to us," Mulder barked and crossed his arms. "I'm not falling for it again, Scully, or whoever you are underneath that skin."

She rolled her eyes. "Mulder, it's me."

"Yeah, right."

"Fine." Scully stormed over towards Clampett and tore the duct tape off of his face. After he finished his loud wail of pain, she closed the two ends of the tape together and tossed the trash onto the floor. "What happened to you?" she pressed.

"Well, Gump came up from behind me and knocked me out. Or maybe it wadn't really Gump since he wouldn't do a thing like that...but...then I woke up all trussed up like a turkey ready to be put into the oven. And then I-"

"You can stop auditioning now, Sheriff. The village is no longer looking for an idiot," Mulder interrupted him. The wall separating the two cells from one another vibrated from Clampett's fist. "Don't tell her anything. It's probably another one of the aliens trying to trick us."

Scully made a tsking sound and huffed out an impatient grunt. "Just what in the name of the Virgin Mary do I have to do to prove it to you?"

Mulder was taciturn for a while, and her foot began to tap on the ground. "I'm thinking," he informed her.

"While you're thinking, the world is awaiting an apocalypse. Speed it up."

"I've got one. Before you were with me, with whom, where, and when did you make love the last time?"

Her expressionless and stoic face remained intact, but she withdrew her gun and aimed it at Mulder. "I'll be fair this time, Mulder. Where would you like me to shoot you?"

"I'm convinced...it's Scully," he held up his hands in surrender and gave her an apologetic grin.

To that news, she holstered the SIG Sauer. "Where are the keys?"

"Lord Farnor threw them outside somewhere through that window," Mulder announced and pointed through the bars.

"Okay, then since I don't feel like ruining this pair of trousers, Sheriff, do you have a spare set of keys to the jail cells?" Scully asked him.

"Yep, sure do. But they'd be in my car, and I always lock it. And yes, the car keys would've also been on the same ring that that sonuvabitch tossed out yonder," Clampett replied.

"Whether there's a will, there's a way," Scully murmured and traveled outside to the rear part of the station.

"What'd she mean by that?" Clampett questioned Mulder.

"Scully's actions speak much more loudly than her words do. I'm sure we'll-"

Three gunshots rang out in the middle of his sentence. The third broke through glass, and Scully reappeared with the spare keys about fifteen seconds later. "Is everythin' all right, Agent Scully?"

"It is now," she mused and unlocked the door to Mulder's cell first. "Oh, and by the way, Sheriff, your cruiser's going to need a new passenger window."

Mulder snickered to himself after she handed him the keys, and he let himself into Clampett's cell to remove his handcuffs.

"What now, Mulder?" Scully demanded.

"Let's go to the airstrip. Sheriff Clampett here will know where to go."

"Are you sure? I'm a little worried about that head wound."

"I'll be fine as long as I get some ice onto it," Clampett grunted and rubbed his sore wrists. "Damn, those things hurt. I oughta get some new cuffs soon."

Ten minutes later...

After Scully unlocked the cabin door, Mulder darted straight inside. "Do you mind if I get some fresh clothing on? I've had these same clothes on since two a.m.," he informed her and began to search through one of his bags.

"Oh, no you haven't," she disagreed and followed him inside.

"I'll just set myself out here on your porch if you don't mind. I haven't had a puff in a while," Clampett said and reached into his jacket pocket for a lighter.

"Hold on," Scully seized the shower cap from their shower, filled it with ice, and shoved it into the Sheriff's hands. She shut the door after herself on her way back inside.

"What do you...--oh yeah," Mulder realized that she had probably ransacked the room trying to find a trace of him less than half an hour ago. "Um, I was actually planning on talking with you about that eventually."

That did not elicit much of a response from her other than her plopping herself down in a cushioned chair by the curtained windows.

"For the most part, I...-well, I...she _really_ looked like you...or he...--boy, this is hard," he sighed and pulled out another pair of jeans and a New York Knicks t-shirt.

"I'm listening," Scully answered his unasked question and switched on a light near her chair.

"There's not much more that I can say, is there? I mean, uh...after I got back from the Professor's, I started to shave, and that's when you came, I mean she came in, which I thought was a little odd because she or um...you said that you were hung up in traffic. And then she started to talk just like you, or rather...not like you since I gave into her a little bit more easily. Um, I mean, her argument, that is." He turned on another light and zipped up his jeans. "Scully, what the hell is all over the carpet here by the beds?"

"Hmm? Oh, that was your Professor Kowolski," she said nonchalantly. "If I were here officially, I might have gotten that cleaned up and sent off to a lab to be analyzed, but I was rather set on finding you first. We'll discuss that in a minute. I'm still waiting to hear the rest of this _amazing_ story."

"What more is there for me to tell? You wrote a note or rather, she wrote a note that said that she went to the police station, so I followed her, and ended up getting tricked into the pokey again."

"You skipped a few parts in between that."

Mulder put on a clean pair of socks and sneakers. "That's a moot point, Scully, and you know it. What in the hell happened to this guy?" After he finished dressing himself, he lifted the bedspread cover and stared at the blue ooze under the bed and pile of clothes that had been a body.

"I suppose he combusted after Deputy Gump and I shot him. Well, actually, Gump shot him in the head first, then I did again, and finally, another one of the Deputy's shotgun shells truncated the head from the body. Mulder, did you know that these weren't terrestrial creatures, and if so, for how long?" She crossed her arms.

"I had no idea until I got locked up in the big house. That was when the alien walked right through the jail bars and smashed up my cell phone. I actually liked that phone, too," he lamented.

"So up until that point, you thought that your captor was me?"

"Yeah." That information made her feel a little better, but she was still furious that an alien could mimic her wiles so efficiently as to fool Mulder.

A huge roll of thunder ripped across the skies, making Scully stand and throw the curtains aside. The sky was pitch black save the ominous lightning, and the heavens poured forth their tears like she had never seen before. The rain suddenly turned into hail, and the hail was hitting objects so hard that it was breaking through the glass in both their rentals.

"Great. Just great. Got any more bright ideas?" she groaned.

"Whewee. Just look at that storm," Clampett commented and burst into the cabin. "Sorry 'bout disturbin' your privacy, but I was gonna get soaked or probably beaten to death with that hail. It was the size of golf balls, I swear."

"I believe it," Mulder agreed. "Well, I guess we won't be able to drive in this."

"Sheriff, do you know Deputy Gump's cell phone number? Maybe he's already gotten to Farnor by now," Scully suggested.

"Yep, I do. But I doubt we'll be able to get in touch with him in this kinda weather," Clampett answered.

"Then try the land line," Mulder offered and pointed to their phone.

"He meant Deputy Gump, Mulder," Scully corrected him.

But Clampett did dial the number on their room telephone. "Gump? Gump, can you hear me?" "Sure can, Sheriff. What's up?" Gump's reply was as clear as a bell.

"Well, we've got us a torrential thunderstorm here, and we won't be able to get to you anytime soon on account of the huge hail showers. So we were wondering how things are goin' for your end."

"As well as you kin expect, Jed. None of my volunteers have turned out to be those aliens so far, and we ain't seen much action on the airstrip. But there's been a storm brewin' towards us for the past ten minutes, but the strange thing is...it ain't headin' our way yet. It's like this huge funnel cloud tornado thing, but it's just hoverin' around. And one of my fellas says that he can see some cows floatin' up in the twister."

"Flyin' cows in a tornado that don't move, huh? Do you think it caused any damage where it's at?"

"I think it was just abandoned sugar cane crops, Jed. And I sure as hell ain't goin' over there to check it out now."

"Well, is there even an airplane in sight?"

"There's one, and the pilot did his fuelin' earlier. He says he already completed all of his pre-flight checks, and now he's just waitin' on his passenger."

"You know what you gotta do, right, Gump?"

"Sure 'nuff, Sheriff, I do. I shot the bastard goin' for Agent Scully, and if this fella gives me a lick o' trouble, I'll do the same to him."

"All right. Give me a call in half an hour to report what's goin' on in Mr. Mulder and Ms. Scully's room. I don't think our cell phones'll work in this nasty storm."

"Will do, Jed." Clampett hung up and sat down on Scully's bed. "Do y'all have anything to eat in here? I...uh...ain't had anything to eat since breakfast, and that was about ten hours ago."

"Do you like sunflower seeds?" Mulder inquired and tossed a small unopened packet to him. "Now, Scully, since our options are somewhat...limited...at the moment, I've got a couple of thoughts. So please, do me the favor of hearing me out."

"Only if you listen to mine, too."

"It's a deal. Okay--what do you say to trying to contact Holman Hart?"

"For the express purpose of...-"

"His help in trying to combat the aliens," Mulder replied.

"Hold on a moment." His teeth bit his upper lip, and he closed his eyes. "I'm only interrupting because I'm trying to figure out where I lost the plot, Mulder. So now we're not searching for a Norwegian god anymore?"

"Merely for his appearance as one. But, no, you were right, Scully. The being pretending to be Lord Farnor is an alien. And we've got to stop them from continuing on his Ragnarok."

"Huh?" Clampett broke in as he munched thoughtfully on a seed.

"End of the world," Scully explained. "Go on."

"All he told me was that their fleet is here, and they have these things that can change or modify the weather to whatever the aliens want. Which in this case, will be a giant avalanche of snow to cover the entire earth like the Norwegian legend foretells." Mulder began to pace back and forth. "I think Holman could probably help us prevent that from happening."

"At will? Mulder, he had a problem controlling himself in the first place, which is _why_ we were ever in Kansas. And now you think he'll be able to change the weather to 'do his bidding'?"

"Why not? He's got a wife and two kids; I'm sure he's perfectly happy now."

"Two? I only knew about one of them."

"Oh, well, his wife sent me an email a little while ago and said that they're expecting again."

She raised an eyebrow. "How often do you keep in contact?"

"Well, she sends out a chain letter to a massive email list, so I wouldn't really call it a personalized message," Mulder shrugged. "But she's just a housewife now, so she probably checks her email every day if we sent her a message."

"Are you finished?"

"Only if you think that's enough information for you to process your decision-making into reality."

"Fine, now you hear me out and sit down, please. You're driving me crazy," she sighed and crossed her legs.

He obeyed and joined her across the table in the other chair.

"Thank you. If what you're saying is really true about this alien fleet, then I think it's time we called in for some help elsewhere." Before he could intercede, she continued. "But I don't think Holman Hart is the right person. I think we should contact the Gunmen."

"What can they do to stop an apocalypse from happening?" he jibed.

"For starters, they could find out if those aliens are there or not. We _have_ tracked them before, have we not?"

"Not purposefully, no, and we could be dealing with a completely different species that uses different cloaking technology."

"I doubt that, Mulder. Cloaking technology is not a complete mystery to science any longer. Since we have the ability to create machines small enough to travel into the bloodstream, it is also possible to fabricate machines that can project false images microscopically. Therefore, they will be made of some sort of a metallic alloy, and our military can definitely track any magnetic field."

"But what if this culture has found a way to deactivate its magnetic field or aura?"

"I would find the possibility of that being very unlikely, and if they did so, we'd probably see their ships visibly," Scully went on. "Cloaking technology is simply engineered camouflage."

"So you're saying if we fired a giant EMP into the sky, then we'd be able to see everyone clearly?" Mulder asked.

"It's plausible." Scully leaned forward in agreement. "But that would not be a wise idea, and the Gunmen do not obviously have that ability. All I'm suggesting is that we contact them so they could find out the truth."

"And then what? We sit on our collective asses and wait for the aliens to wipe us off of the planet?"

"No, we inform the proper authorities."

"I think I've heard enough." Mulder stood angrily and crossed the vanity sink. "Sheriff, what do you say?"

"Yeah, I think I'd like a cup if you don't mind," Clampett signaled Mulder's attention behind himself to a clean but empty coffee pot.

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh, I'm sorry. What was the question?" He placed an empty husk into the ashtray placed on the night stand between the two beds.

"What do you think we should do?" Mulder demanded.

"Um, well...could I think of it over a cup o'java?"

"We're at an impasse, Sheriff, and time is critical."

"Yes, but it doesn't mean that we shouldn't be inhospitable," Scully arose and went to the coffee maker. "Do you want regular or decaf, Sheriff?"

"Decaf, please, if you got it," Clampett answered her.

"Don't think that I don't know what you're up to," Mulder wagged an accusing index finger in her direction.

"And what's that?" she questioned him as she filled the carafe with some water.

"You're trying to get him onto your side."

"You had your chance," she told him sotto voce. "I'm afraid we don't have any coffee cream, Sheriff..."

"That's all right. I'll take it without any sweeteners anyway."

"Here, let me help you, Scully," Mulder butted in, tore open an envelope of 'Sanka' coffee, and placed it into the filter.

"Could you be any more childish?" she soughed and let him take over.

"How 'bout we flip a coin?" Clampett wondered.

"What?" Mulder was flabbergasted.

"You know, to make the decision. I heard the both of ya, and I honestly don't want to screw somethin' else up that might save the world, so let's just flip a quarter. Think I got one." He dug into a pocket and placed the money onto the night stand.

"So are you saying that you don't believe either one of us?" Scully interjected.

"No, ma'am, but I also don't want to stoke the fire. You two ain't gonna come to terms with one another on this, and I just don't have the guts to do somethin' stupid."

Scully pivoted and made eye contact with Mulder as he had just powered on the coffee maker. He shrugged and leaned against the sink counter. "I call heads."

"Whatever," Scully rolled her eyes and watched Clampett throw up the coin.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Scully's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

June 3rd, 2001, 6:10 p.m.

"So, man, do you think Langly's coming back?" Frohike asked Byers, who was now holding William in his arms rocking him.

"Of course. He just needed some time to himself."

"And that fictitious FBI agent."

"You mean you don't believe Scully? She said that she met her."

"I guess," Frohike grunted. "Why would he be so secretive of this Sabrina chick and never let us see her?"

"I can't believe you're asking me that question," Byers shook his head.

"Oh." Reality dawned on Frohike. "You think he's that loyal that he would protect us like that? I'm surprised that he didn't take her to our place on his second date and show her all our stuff. Smart chicks dig gadgets, you know."

A knock on the door ceased the remainder of their conversation.

"Who is it?" Byers inquired.

"Open up. It's me," Langly's nasal voice called from the other side of the door. "I brought someone with me."

Frohike walked over to the door, opened it, and in walked Langly with Sabrina Wazir, of the FBI's Cyber Department. "Wow, my brother, you were _not_ kidding." He was awestruck by the red head in front of him. "Melvin Frohike, at your service, my lady," he offered his hand to her.

When she gave it to him, he kissed hers, which made her immediately recoil.

"Ugh, so this is the slime ball," she commented and gave Frohike a glare.

"Don't believe everything you hear, Ms. Wazir," Frohike returned and fixed his gaze upon Langly with an intense, malicious stare.

"It was my own conclusion based upon various accounted stories that Langly told me, not his."

"So, how did the rest of the night go?" Langly asked Byers casually.

"Fine. We got him back to sleep after you left. If you'll excuse me for just a moment, I think he needs another nap." Byers stood with the child and left the living room indignantly.

"What's wrong with him?" Langly directed his question to Frohike.

"He's pissed that you walked out on us when we needed you."

"Sounds like you managed things just fine without me. Besides, I had a few other priorities." He squeezed Sabrina's hand, to which she gave a disdainful grimace. "What?"

"You left a screaming, helpless, child so you could have breakfast with me? How selfish can you be, Langly?" she indignantly interrogated him. She jerked her hand away and put both onto her hips.

"I didn't want to disappoint you, that's all."

"You could've told me the truth."

Suddenly, Scully's land line interrupted the argument. No one spoke for a few moments as they pondered why it would be ringing. "Is that Scully's phone?" Byers inquired as he journeyed back to the living room.

"Yeah. It could be Scully's Mom. She did say that Mrs. Scully would be back in town tonight from California," Frohike offered.

"On the other hand, it might not be. What if someone knows that we're here?" Langly panicked.

"Well, it might be Scully. She knows we're here," Byers calmly told him.

"But why would she use the land line? And why-"

"Drop the conspiracy theory, mates, the bloody phone's still ringing," Sabrina huffed and picked up the phone finally. "Who's this?"

"This is Special Agent Dana Scully, and might I ask who _you_ are, and why you are picking up my phone?" an annoyed voice questioned her from the other end.

"Special Agent Sabrina Wazir. I'm here on official business," she lied and held up a hand to the rest of the three stunned Gunmen to motion them into silence.

"How so?"

"I was asked to monitor your apartment for bugs."

"On a Sunday night? By whom?"

"It was actually more of a request...by Tony."

"I'm surprised that you'd spend your time off doing him a favor."

"What do you want?" Wazir ignored the comment.

"Give the phone to one of the three men standing next to you."

"How did you know that I didn't throw them out after I got in? After all, I can, you know."

"Did you complete the task?"

"Not yet."

"Then stop wasting my time, finish it, and leave as quickly as you can, please."

"She says she wants to talk to you," Wazir shrugged indifferently and handed the phone to Frohike.

"Ah, so it is you, my pet," Frohike enthused with charm.

"I need you to find some UFOs that might possibly be lurking up in our atmosphere. Can you do that?"

"Well, yes, but...-"

"I don't have the time to discuss all the details with you right now," Scully stated impatiently. "Can you track them or not?"

"Langly's got a program that can, I think. Here, let me give him over to you." Frohike passed the handset to Langly.

"What's this all about?" Langly questioned his colleague.

"Scully wants to look for some UFOs. Tell her about the _Falcon_."

"Are you sure that you're really talking to Scully?" Byers interjected.

"I'm not sure that I want to release that into the public, yet," Langly disagreed.

"For once, it was _not_ one of Mulder's convoluted ideas to speak with you!" Scully yelled into the phone. "Are you going to help me or not?!"

"You'd better talk to her, at least. She sounds pissed," Wazir observed.

"Sorry, Agent Scully. Langly's been a little out of sorts recently," Byers apologized. "But he _will_ talk to you." Frohike curled up his right fist and lifted it in Langly's general direction.

"Fine." The blonde man brought the phone up to his ear. "You said that you wanted to look for some UFOs in space?"

"Possibly, but I was wondering if they might be in our atmosphere...cloaked, of course, but...-" Scully let the sentence trail off.

"No problem. The _Falcon_ can do it." Langly took the phone with him and traveled over to her dining room table to open up his laptop.

"The what?" Scully returned.

"I call my program the _Falcon_. It's how we know if they're coming for us or not." Langly sat down, cradled the phone in between his neck and ear, and clicked twice upon an icon on his desktop. The other two Gunmen and Wazir followed him.

"I know that this question is utterly ridiculous, but is there any chance that you are utilizing an unauthorized military satellite or radar covertly for your own purposes?"

"Maybe, but that might be a good thing for you right now." He started to type in some coordinates into a text box furiously. After he hit 'enter', hundreds of miniature orange mushrooms appeared onto his LCD screen. "Uh-oh."

"Is that a good sign or not?" Scully pressed.

"It means we hit "pay dirt" all right, but your suspicions are verified through the _Falcon_," Langly informed her. "Whoops, and I'd better get off now. Someone might see me soon."

"But wait a minute, what are they doing?"

"Looks like they're just hovering there for now, but I've gotta go before I get into trouble."

"Oh, for God's sake, you're such a wimp," Wazir miffed and turned the computer towards herself. Her fingers did not leave the keys for an impressive ten seconds while they flew across the board as proficiently as a piano virtuoso. "There. You're off of the military radar." She hit one more key and pushed the laptop back over to him.

"Aw...Langly...she is _hot_," Frohike exclaimed.

"Shut up, and stop looking at her," Langly ordered and threw him a dirty look.

MTM Bed & Breakfast, Wauchula, FL

June 3rd, 2001, 6:20 p.m.

"I still say that that coin was rigged," Mulder grumbled and shoved his hands into his jeans. "Now what do we do?"

"Give me a few moments," Sabrina's Australian accent came over Scully's half of the conversation. "I'm going to backtrack through their records."

Scully placed the receiver onto the night stand. "Whose records?" she wondered.

"The Air Force's, for one," Wazir answered her.

"Who is that?" Mulder questioned Scully quietly as they patiently waited for the FBI hacker's results.

"Apparently one of SAC Capricci's ex-girlfriends. I'm not exactly sure why she's helping us, but then again, she might have an ulterior motive," Scully responded. "We need to be careful of her."

"And the plot thickens. Scully, you never trust any other women that you work with or meet."

"That's not true. I _rarely_ trust any other women that I meet or work with," she corrected him.

"Okay," Wazir cleared her throat and brought their attention back to the phone. "They know about the ships all right; they've apparently been in our atmosphere for the past three months. But no one's done anything about 'the bogeys' yet. I'm rather surprised, actually...there's usually quite a bit of rivalry between the armed branches. Both the Air Force and Navy are actually talking to one another on a relatively friendly basis regarding this matter."

"Charles," Scully said and snapped her fingers.

"What about your brother?" Mulder inquired.

"I should call him and ask for his help."

"Do you trust him enough to tell him how we found out about the aliens? He'll want to know."

"Maybe I don't have to tell him everything."

Clampett, who had been nursing his cup of coffee, suddenly got up from his rocking chair, and set it down onto a bureau of drawers nearby. "I got it," he announced loudly.

Both Mulder and Scully spun around towards him.

"I told you I needed some coffee to think, didn't I? Well, somethin' just occurred to me as I was settin' here drinkin'. That Lord Farnor sure did eat a lot when I met him at Steak n'Shake. I think he ate 'nuff to choke an army," Clampett stroked his jaw.

"And?" Scully charged.

"So this species seems to be pretty fond of eatin' our food. I mean, if them ships've been here for three months and him the same amount of time, then he probably coulda returned to them for food at any time he wanted to. And that Professor, too, right?"

"But why would they when they could have meals right here?" Mulder shrugged.

"That's my 'zactly my point, Mr. Mulder. They _like_ our food. There was a shoppin' cart loaded to the brim with ice cream and all sorts of dairy products at the Winn Dixie store where the inside storm happened. I think he just wanted to distract everybody while he went around robbin' the store."

"As scary as it sounds for me to say this, but that's completely logical," Scully nodded in agreement. "So what do you suggest, Sheriff?"

"Well, there aren't too many things that our town is known for. But we can certainly put on a barbecue like there's no tomorrow; even the President's said he likes ours better'n Texas'. And while them aliens are eatin' like there's no tomorrow at the BBQ, we go out and blow their ships to Hell."

"Who's we?"

"The good guys, you know, our military."

"Hmm...Farnor did say that the receivers were on the ships. And with the ships' destruction, their earthly transmitters would not work," Mulder agreed.

"What about the ones that don't want to eat?" Wazir's voice interrupted them from the phone. "There are always people...or um...I guess...aliens in this case, that will not eat."

"Then we put on a free show, too," Clampett immediately said. "Nobody can resist a good ole' rock n'roll concert...I don't care if they're not from this planet. Everybody likes to feel good, and that's what music can do."

"Then how do we conquer the ones on earth at the barbecue?" Scully asked.

"I dunno...but you should definitely call your brother. He'll have all the answers you want," Clampett replied.

"I guess that settles it, then. Thank you for your help, Ms. Wazir."

"Don't consider it as help. It was a challenge that I merely fulfilled," Wazir snapped back and hung up.

Scully sighed and put the receiver back into its cradle. "Now do you understand why I don't like her, Mulder?"

"I wouldn't flag her as the type to go into customer service," Mulder smiled.

She merely gave him a short exhale through her nose, shook her head, and retrieved her cell phone from her jacket pocket.

"Thought you said that those wouldn't be working," Mulder reminded her.

"Probably not, but I don't have my brother's number memorized."

"Well, you should, in case of an emergency."

"Mulder, this _is _an emergency. The world's about to be annihilated for no apparent reason."

"Um...-"

Scully scrolled down her address book and picked up the land line.

"Scully, we aren't being terminated for no reason."

"You don't say." She dialed in the number and gave him half of her attention while she waited for an answer.

"Yeah, I do. The alien Farnor told me that they've been trying to integrate with us for years, but it's never worked. We always managed to push them away and give them the short end of the stick, so to speak."

"Operator," Scully commanded the phone.

"What?"

"Oh, I reached an electronic menu; you know, the ones that give you all those runaround directions and futile choices. Hello? Am I talking to someone with a brain yet? Good. I would like to speak with Captain Charles Scully, please. Why should I need an access code? This is not the Pentagon. I'm his sister, for Christ's sake! Don't tell me to calm down, I am calm!"

"Uh, Scully, you are kind of screaming at the poor woman," Mulder rebuked her gently.

Her lips pursed themselves, and she was about to say something very rude and nasty to him until some instrumental jazz came over the phone. "She'd better have put me through to my brother, or I can't be held responsible for what I might do."

"Would it be best if we went outside onto the porch for a few minutes?" Mulder motioned outside.

"You could remain here...but it might be a risk," she shrugged noncommittally.

"That's 'nuff of a reason for me to skedaddle," Clampett said and quickly walked outside with Mulder not far behind him.

"This is Captain Scully," a male voice finally came through.

"Charlie? It's Dana--sorry to call you here, but I needed to speak with you on a secure line," Scully began.

"It's good to hear from you, sis. How're things?"

"Not so well, I'm afraid. I'm surprised that you're not well...disturbed about the whole situation...yourself."

"Situation?"

"With the visitors in the sky," she went down to a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Dana, I just don't quite catch your drift."

"You mean you don't know about them?'

"Know about who?" Ctn. Scully inquired.

"There are hundreds of foreign airships in our atmosphere just waiting to effectively eradicate our planet from existence!"

"Dana, I think you've been listening to your ex-partner a little too often. Now his crazy hallucinations are starting to plant themselves into your head, too. Don't you let him do it, girl. I know you, Dana, and you are too smart to let that happen."

"Charlie, go phone one of your superiors right this very moment, and ask him what they look like. Don't ask him if they're there, just ask him or her what the ships look like, and I will verify."

"So you can see them right now?"

"No...they're being cloaked."

"Cloaked, huh? And whom do you say they are, Dana? The Chinese? The Russians? The North Koreans?"

"Don't patronize me, Charles." There was a bit of a pause at the other end of the line.

"Isn't this something I can do tomorrow? I'm late leaving the base as it is, and Veronica will probably shoot me for being late for dinner."

"No, it's not. We've only got," she glanced at her watch, "about fifty-one hours left."

"Do they know that?"

"Who?"

"My bosses."

"Probably not, since they've been in such a rush to do something about it. But knowing that might aid them to get on the ball."

"Come on, Dana...-"

"Don't start to act like Bill."

"Just you wait on that line and reconsider what you just said," he growled and put her on hold. Once again, she heard a cheery rendition of "Magic Moment" minus Perry Como's cheese grating vocals. But that was actually a good sign; Charles always hated being compared to his older brother, and whenever anyone did it, he went to the utmost extremes to prove that person wrong. It also made Scully chuckle to herself that she could tease him like that after all these years.

There was a knock on the door, and she covered the mouthpiece with her hand as she told Mulder and Clampett to come in. "Is it safe to enter, or will Pompeii be decimated again by Mt. Scully?" Mulder snickered.

"Ha ha, very funny. You can come on in."

"What's going on? Did you get to talk to him?" Both Mulder and Clampett strolled inside, slightly wet from the storm's fury still pouring outside.

"Yes, and he's making me wait until he's heard back from his superiors about the aliens. He didn't believe me at first," she disparaged.

"Feels great, doesn't it?" Mulder snorted.

"What?"

"Being treated like a lunatic."

"For your information, while you were gone, I came under the same amount of scrutiny with Doggett and Kersh, thank you very much."

"Well, I-"

"Dana, I want to apologize to you," Ctn. Scully suddenly picked up the phone once more. "You weren't kidding."

"Did you tell them how long we had?" Scully questioned her brother.

"No, but I did make it seem urgent, and now they want to know who I found this out from and how you found out, etc...-"

"At this point, I don't give a damn about the formalities of it all, and they shouldn't either given our time constraint. Do they have a plan?"

"They've been arguing with the Navy for the past three months, from what it sounds like. Both branches have ideas up the wazoo, but no one can agree upon anything," Charles explained. "Why, do you?"

"Someone has--I don't think it's a bad idea, actually. The man responsible for the idea lives in Wauchula, FL, and he says that he met one personally. They love to eat our food, apparently, and he suggests putting on a very big BBQ along with a free rock concert for those who don't want to eat."

"Where is that?"

"Somewhere in the southwest part of Florida. It's above Naples and just below Tampa, that's all I know," she sighed.

"Pardon me, I've gotta go visit the little boys' room," Clampett excused himself.

Mulder took that very opportunity to situate himself right next to Scully, who picked up the phone and traversed across the other side of the bed to sit in the same chair she previously occupied.

"Well, I'll tell my bosses...oh...um...evening, sirs," Charles greeted an anonymous visitor on his half of the conversation. "Never mind. They just came into my office."

"And what do they have to say about the scheme?"

Mulder pursued her and relaxed up against the wall behind her silently.

"They think it's a very good plan. But...uh...finding someone to play for free in the middle of nowhere, Florida might be a bit of a challenge," Charles informed her.

"Just tell the artist that if they want to save the earth, they'd be doing every single human a favor," Mulder piped in.

"Who's that?" Charles demanded. "I heard a man's voice with you."

"That would be Mulder," Scully turned and eyed him suspiciously. "What're you doing back there? You're making me nervous."

"Good," Mulder grinned slyly.

"I don't like to be nervous on the phone. And might I remind you that I am speaking with my brother?"

He bent forward over her so that his mouth was right next to her ear. "He can't see anything," he whispered and ran a teasing finger across her bottom lip. "You know how danger can turn me on." Before she could rebuke him, he removed his digit and squeezed her shoulder.

"Is everything all right, Dana?" Charles inquired.

"It's fine. Have your commanders decided what course of action they want to take now?" Scully asked.

"They just started to make some calls. There are what...three tours going on currently near your 'neck o' the woods'...? Yeah. Looks like we have to choose from Madonna, Paul McCartney, and The Allman Brothers."

"Good luck--Madonna wouldn't do anything for free except strip," Mulder remarked and got down onto his knees.

"I won't quarrel with you on that," Ctn. Scully agreed. "And it sounds like her tour manager is telling us to go to Hell."

"And what does Mr. McCartney have to say?" Scully wondered.

Mulder pushed some of her hair aside and began to engulf her neck. She gasped wordlessly as he moved slowly but cruelly without any form of direction whatsoever.

"Not too much, apparently. He'll be lip synching with the tracks that his front-of-house engineer is playing back to the audience right now because he tore some of his larynx yesterday trying to sing like he was back in his twenties," Ctn. Scully replied. "So he's communicating to his manager via chalkboard as of this moment. And I think it looks like that option is out. Yep, the general is shaking his head 'no'."

"So we're left with...-"

"The Allman Brothers. Give me a minute here...the general's gotten a busy signal. He's going to keep on trying, though."

Scully cupped her hand over the microphone. "Mulder, will you stop? What if Clampett walks in?"

He paused long enough to speak, but only in between his gentle gnawing. "I think...that I already...expressed...that I didn't care...about his watching...you and me."

"Then imagine Bill walking in on us..."

Mulder persisted his torture and traveled to the front of her jaw with his mouth and his body. "I don't...give...a damn, my love."

"With a loaded shotgun," Scully finished.

"Sheesh, you really know how to ruin a moment, don't you?" he lamented and sat down at her feet.

"Okay, they're game," Ctn. Scully announced suddenly.

"Hmm?" she removed her hand from its previous position.

"The Allman Brothers say that they'll do it. They're playing in Atlanta, Georgia tonight, but they can pack up and be down to...where are you again?"

"Wauchula, Florida."

"Yeah, they'll be there by Tuesday morning."

"Tuesday? Isn't there some way that they could speed things up? We'll be getting real close to the deadline, then."

"They've got truckloads of gear, Dana. It's the best that their production and road managers could promise. Plus they have a show tonight, so their crew won't be tearing down until eleven. Oh, and their tour manager says that their only requirement on the rider will be free barbecue pork sandwiches and cold beer."

"What's a rider?"

"Uh...I'm not sure. I'm just um...relaying information as I hear it from my general."

"I'll be sure to let the town officials know that," Scully told him. "Anything else? Will the Air Force be involved in this? Will the citizens need to do anything to help?"

"I can't say that, Dana, sorry. Just know that when this is over, at the next family dinner, _you_ will be doing the cooking as a favor from you to me for this. I can't stand Mom's pot roast; she overdoes it."

"The only thing I can think of in the near future is our 4th of July picnic, Charlie. I'm sure she won't be making pot roast for _that_."

"Then make your famous oven baby back ribs; she'll find a way to burn or dry out something if it's meat," Ctn. Scully grunted.

"All right, Charlie, you win. Say hello to your wife for me."

"My wife...oh shit, I'd better get home!" Ctn. Scully screamed and before Scully could say a proper goodbye, she heard a dial tone.

"Are we all set?" Clampett asked as he came out from the bathroom.

"I'm afraid so," Scully answered quietly. "You have until Tuesday afternoon to make the arrangements and get everything ready."

Without another moment to lose, he hiked his spring jacket over his head, and headed out the door into the rainstorm.

"Well, Scully, I know it's a little early, but what do you say to starting the festivities earlier tonight?" Mulder leaned back and gazed up at her with anticipation.

"I'm a bit hungry, actually." She set the phone onto the ground, and he jerked the line out of it.

"I know, and so am I." His eyes met hers as he arose back onto his knees and faced her.

"Mulder, Deputy Clampett...or...uh...Gump is supposed to...-"

She could not finish her protest as he dived in straight for her lips. As she tore herself away for one breath of oxygen, she leaned against his forehead. "Shall I get the chair?" he whispered.

"I'm already sitting in one, Mulder."

"No, I meant something a little more...sturdy." He left her and dragged a hard, wooden chair from a card table across the room. "Will this do?"

"Oh, all right." Scully got up and accepted his hand as she took a step up and situated herself.

"Will you be comfortable with those boots on?"

"For the time being, yes. How long were you planning for me to be up here?"

"Plan? Oh, I don't know...we'll play it by ear, I guess."

"Like usual," she sighed and crooked a finger towards herself. "Remind me why we do this again?"

He sauntered closer and stripped her of her leather jacket. "You like being the tall one."

"I think I mentioned _once_ that I wanted to be on top. I didn't think that you'd take it this literally."

"Be careful what you wish for, Scully, you never know when it could-"

"Shut up, Mulder." He made no further objections as her mouth joined his, nor when her hand encouragingly coaxed him by the back of his neck to press harder. This was his Scully; although she could be demanding at times and assertive, she was never aggressive. All traces of what happened earlier this afternoon began to slowly fade away to the back of his memory where he dared not go. After his only love gradually let go and smiled against his temple, she gently pulled him into her embrace where he rested upon her bosom. "Have I told you that I love you today, Mulder?" Her voice vibrated against his head.

"Oh, God, I've died and gone to Heaven," was his muffled reply. "Scully, you've never told me that you loved me."

"Do I have to say it all the time?"

"Please."

"All right then." She rubbed his back. "I love you."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

KOA Campgrounds, Wauchula, FL

June 5th, 2001, 7:45 a.m.

As Mulder parked the Mustang on the grass, he had to admit that he was impressed. The park had been specially closed only for this event, and the people of Wauchula scurried around like ants preparing the way for the aliens. Signs reading 'Free BBQ/Concert' had been placed everywhere; some went as far as the town's off-skirts.

The trucks and buses belonging to the Allman Brothers were stationed nearly half a mile away, and as Captain Scully had promised, the crew was already busy building the stage for the show. Some members assembled pieces of box truss together while others hustled black, blue, red, and gray road cases down the truck ramps.

Propane grills and even a smoke pit barbecue sat about one hundred feet from Mulder's car while a few people attended to them with fuel. "Scully, is this what your family's 4th of July is like?" he asked her as they got out of the Mustang. "Because if it is, Bill Jr. or not, I will definitely have to make an appearance."

"Um...not even close," she responded as she watched the preparations. "It's a good thing you brought that up; I think that your presence will be absolutely mandatory this year."

_Whoops_, he thought. _Tread carefully, Mulder._ _Aha. Wait a minute--a distraction will work. _"And why's that, sweetie pie?"

She shot him an irked eyebrow. "Sweetie pie?"

"I'm working on pet names. You can make one up for me, too, you know."

"No, Mulder, no," Scully shook her head.

"Oh come on. Didn't you do this with anyone else? You and your dad...-"

"I'm saying 'no' to 'sweetie pie'. Try again."

"Honey bun?"

"No."

"Baby?"

"No."

"Sugar lips?"

Scully was about to say no when she thought better, held her breath, and journeyed to his side of the car. She laid one hand against the hood and pressed her tongue deeply into the right side of her cheek as she stared him down.

"Okay, I give up...for now," he sighed submissively.

"Good, because you're still coming to the picnic."

"Scully..." he whined. "Bill Jr. gives me the ebblie jebblies, and if he found out that we were sleeping together, he'd try to sever my manly parts and grill them with the rest of the meat."

"I wasn't planning on breaking it to him or even my mother now that you mention it, and thank you for that lovely visualization. That reminds me..." Scully retrieved her cell phone from her jacket pocket.

"You haven't told your mom about us?"

"I might have said that we were closer, but I haven't said anything remotely about to our nocturnal activities."

"Scully, I'm surprised. I thought there wasn't anything that you couldn't tell your mother," Mulder chuckled.

"Mulder, remember which generation my mother belongs to and her strict Catholic traditions. She'd probably threaten to cut me out of the will if she knew we were having pre-marital relations."

"And this comes from the same religion that absolutely forbids the use of contraception? I just don't get it, Scully," he scratched his head.

"One of these days, we'll sit down, and I'll explain the traditional values of the Church to you if you'd like, Mulder." She reached up and ran a hand through his hair as she pressed the phone to one ear. "Hello, Mom? Hold on a minute, let me try moving." Scully turned on her heel and strolled away from the car. "Is this any better?"

Mulder was very glad at that moment that he had parked the car facing west. Scully was walking towards the east, and the sun was rising; he couldn't have asked for two more gorgeous sights. About fifteen seconds later, a squad car with a damaged passenger window pulled up in front of him, and Deputy Gump got out. "Is there somethin' wrong with the phone line in your room, Mr. Mulder?" he inquired.

"Not that I know of, why?"

"I been tryin' to call the room for the past day or so, and I wasn't getting no answer. Sorry 'bout your room; it's Betty's day off. I think she went to make some pies for them aliens."

"I think we'll live without fresh towels for one day," Mulder said. "I...uh...Agent Scully and I didn't want any interruptions for a while. So she turned off her phone, and I unplugged the room's line. I'll put it back, don't you worry."

"I ain't worried 'bout somethin' small like that. Might not have a bed n'breakfast to take care of the day after tomorrow for that matter," Gump shrugged. "So y'all gonna come to the festival?"

"I'm...not so sure about that. Aren't you worried about everyone's safety if the aliens do discover that this is a diversion?"

"Not really. They're plannin' on wipin' us out anyhow, ain't they? So I figure it's worth the risk, and 'sides, might as well enjoy what's left of time as we know it if somethin' goes wrong. Plus we can't let all the beer go to waste."

Mulder had to agree that if these were his last two nights with the human race, he would definitely have to make the most of them. That would probably have to include a long soak in the bath with Scully. Outwardly towards other males, he'd never admit how much he loved spending time with her in a sudsy tub, but how he could show her was another idea altogether. Some very interesting thoughts and pictures came into his head at the moment, but Deputy Gump interrupted them rather rudely.

"Does that sound stupid?"

"Uh, no, not at all. I'll ask Scully what she'd like to do."

"Oh, I see how it is," Gump smirked. "She orders you 'round, don't she? The boss makes all the decisions?"

"No, we just like to make them together. It's more fair that way."

"Just act like a man for once and carry her out over your shoulder. What the hell you got to lose, anyway, if we all die tonight or tomorrow night?"

"Deputy Gump, even if that _is _the case, no man in his right mind would ever try and incur Agent Dana Scully's temper."

"Bitchy, is she?"

"Let's just say that I've been punched in the face and shot by the same woman when I accidentally crossed that line," Mulder winced.

"Hmmph. My wife knew what her place was." Gump raised his hands onto his hips, sunk his fingers around a pair of belt loops, and leaned against his car. "So where'd she nail ya?"

"In the shoulder and in the right eye."

"Socked it to ya, didn't she? What'd you do?"

"They were two separate occasions, and that's none of your business."

"Well, if ya ask me, mebbe the gun's bullet wadn't near painful 'nuff," Gump mumbled and watched the crew members raise the boxed truss with the help of chain host motors.

"Sorry about that, Mulder," Scully announced her arrival as she came back. "Hello, Deputy Gump."

"Ma'am," he tipped his hat towards her and made eye contact with Mulder.

"Scully, what do you say to having a little fun for a change tonight?"

"Fun?" One eyebrow furrowed whilst the other climbed to the heavens.

"Let's live it up a little; we sure rarely got the chance to when we were working together at the Bureau."

"Um..."

"Remember a few years ago when you asked me to 'get out of the damn car'? I'm saying let's do it--tonight."

"If I was you, missy, I'd punch him in the nuts this time. Maybe it'd get him to stop talkin' 'round the subject, " Gump pointed to Mulder with his thumb and shuffled away towards the smoke pit barbecue.

"This time? When did I ever punch you?" Scully demanded.

"1939--I'd just kissed you on the cruise ship the Queen Anne and told you how to save the world. You believed me, too. I'll never forget that kiss either; you were flushed, angry, and-"

"I said it in the hospital room three years ago, Mulder, and I mean it to this very day. In _your_ dreams. Now whatever else I said, I negate upon this day." She inched herself closer to him and stroked his arm. "Did you mean that you wanted to ask me out on a date?" She gave him a leer.

"Well, I thought that maybe you'd like to accompany me to the...um...party tonight...and maybe...do something afterwards if we don't die."

"Would it include bathwater and bubbles?"

"Whatever your heart desires, pumpkin."

"Try again, Mulder." Scully shook her head. "It's not a winner."

"Sweetheart?"

She opened the car door and got into the passenger seat. "Nope."

"Doll face?" He followed suit and started the engine.

"You know, Mulder, was that dream of yours a fantasy when I struck you? It's very plausible that we could make it a reality soon."

"You wouldn't do that while I'm driving, would you, Toots?"

_Thwack_!

The Mustang jerked to one side of the country road briefly but then got right back onto its course back towards the bed and breakfast. "Ouch!"

"I've been telling you to do more things by the book, haven't I?" She tossed a paperback copy of _Moby Dick_ into the back seat.

Later that day, approximately dusk...

Clampett felt as jumpy as a cricket on a hot skillet; he had not been this nervous since his high school prom. The aliens were there as planned and were eating like there was no tomorrow. The Allman Brothers were scheduled to go on at seven, and they were fifteen minutes late. But thankfully, the aliens were gracious enough to keep devouring the food without a moment to lose. In fact, they were in such a hurry that there were absolutely no conversations amongst their kind.

The townspeople of Wauchula were kept extremely busy by the hungry aliens, so they had no time to be jittery, or if they were, they did not lose composure. Floodlights, bug zappers, and electric lanterns eventually took the place of sunlight as it naturally disappeared into the horizon. A portion of picnic tables not used by the aliens in front of the stage were cleared as some workers hustled to hammer down the tiles of a portable dance floor and join them together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

Clampett journeyed over to a cooler, pulled out a can of Budweiser, and started to chug it down. _No sense in lettin' these go to waste_, he thought. Finally, the stage brightened, and the band took its place. "How y'all doin' tonight, folks?" Greg Allman called to the aliens, who paid him no mind. "I said...how's everybody doin'?" he tried again.

This time, the humans responded with hoots and cheers. However, the aliens were still as silent as ghosts. Some glanced up from their gluttony at the men on stage momentarily but then immediately went back to their feast. "Well, looks like a y'all are havin' a mighty fun time, so 'nuff of talkin' the shit, let's just do it. C'mon, boys!" Allman told the band and counted the time off away from the microphone. The band lost no time in starting off on of their more famous tunes named "Revival", and the stage hands finally finished the dance floor by the end of the fourth measure bar. They scampered off towards the back of the stage no doubt to consume their own meals and hops.

Clampett finished his beverage and tossed the empty can into a nearby trash bin. He hoped and prayed to God that this would work. The last time he had a good idea was back in 1992 when he remembered to set his alarm clock before going to the bar and passing out that night. A handful of the locals took a break from serving and began to congregate onto the dance floor with such life that gave Clampett a bit of relief. The alcohol had loosened up some of his fears, but now that he witnessed some people actually having a good time, he could breathe somewhat easier.

"Yeah, that's it, y'all!" Allman shouted from the stage as they carried on an instrumental break. "Can you feel it?"

A few aliens paused in between bites to gawk at the small spectacle on the dance floor, and eventually, they dropped their food to join in. Of course, the aliens were not stepping quite in time with the easy Southern rock beat blasting from the P.A. system right in front of them, but it seemed like they were enjoying themselves.

"I'll be damned," Clampett mumbled and reached for another beer can from the cooler. "They can't dance worth shit but man can they eat. Hope this gives the military 'nuff time to do what they gotta do."

Meanwhile, somewhere in the sky...

"Base, this is Captain Charles Scully, we are approaching the approximate targets at 10 o'clock," Ctn. Scully announced from his F-16.

"Roger that, Lucky. Continue your approach carefully," his commander responded to him through the radio.

"Hey, Lucky, are you sure that this is gonna work?" Another F-16 leveled with him and joined him on his left.

"No, but this is our only shot to find out. And you know that you're my number one wingman, Viper, so you'd best not let me down," Ctn. Scully answered.

"I'll do my damned best, sir. I've got your six."

"Good. You ready to fire that mini-EMP charge?"

"You betcha, sir. Let's go."

"Now we gotta do this together, Viper, so let's not screw it up. On my mark, we fire upon the count of three."

"Hey, Lucky, can I ask you a question?"

"Time for questions was before the mission started, Airman. You were there for the briefing, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir. I'm just feeling a little...scared, that's all. I mean, we don't really know if these blasts are gonna make our engines stall and take out all our stuff, too...-"

"Viper, they said that they outfitted our planes to nullify the EMP."

"I heard that, sir, but, I'm feeling the pressure...not literally...just figuratively, I mean."

"The time is here and now, man. Don't tell me you're backin' down on me like a momma's boy."

"No, sir."

"Then flush that shit down the toilet and get your charge ready, Airman! Now, here we go..." Captain Scully flipped a few switches on his panel. "One...two...three!"

The planes simultaneously fired their electromagnetic pulses blindly and encountered five alien ships, which were now in plain view. The F-16s had to brake wildly and pull forty-five degree opposing turns not to hit their targets. "Whoa, man!" Viper called out. "Those are some big mother f-"

"Cool your jets, Viper and keep down the chatter. Let's pull up under one and see if we can get caught in the tractor beam or something."

"Gotta love Star Wars, dude. Those movies are the reason I joined the Air Force--space is my first love. And oh, 10/4."

They slowed down even more and drifted underneath one of the monstrosities. Suddenly, without warning, the U.S. fighters disappeared from sight.

"Lucky, you've left our radar!" Ctn. Scully's commander exclaimed. "Are you still available via radio, over?"

"Roger that, base. We're all right," Ctn. Scully replied and examined his new surroundings with his fellow pilot. "Apparently, they took us ships and all into what looks like their cargo hold. We're gonna proceed from our cockpits onto their soil, so to speak."

"Just be careful, Captain, Lieutenant. We'll break radio contact with you so you can maintain your dark approach."

"Copy. Let's maintain our helmets and switch to portable oxygen just in case the ship doesn't have it," Ctn. Scully ordered his wingman, who nodded.

"Yes, sir. But shouldn't we scan the area for life first? There was no re-con done for this mission."

"Viper, we _are_ the goddamned re-con." He broke away his oxygen line and reattached it to an oxygen tank behind himself after opening the cockpit hatch. Captain Scully undid his seatbelts, stood, and strapped the tank to himself. "You got your sidearm, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Captain. Wouldn't leave home without it." His counterpart followed the same motions as he did and let himself down from the plane slowly. "My Beretta's been itching for a little action, actually. She told me so this morning as I was cleanin' her."

"Talk to your guns, do you, Lieutenant?"

"Everybody needs somebody to love, Lucky."

"For Pete's sake, Adam, get a girlfriend!" Captain Scully lamented and joined him on the ground. "That's pathetic."

"Maybe if we live and succeed, I'll get one. Lieutenant Adam Carson, age 33, claim to fame, saving the world from ultimate destruction. Think I'll get a chick that way?"

"Start with the traditional dinner and a movie, Viper. You're better off that way," Ctn. Scully shook his head. "Radio silence until further notice, Airman."

Lt. Carson nodded and stayed behind his ranking officer as they surveyed the empty space all around themselves. Captain Scully removed his Desert Eagle .50 semi-automatic from his leg holster and tiptoed to a closed door. He signaled his counterpart to move to the other side while he looked around for a control panel, and Carson obeyed dutifully with his Beretta 9mm drawn. The only piece of electronics near the door was glowing, but there were no buttons on it. Captain Scully tried to touch the LCD with a gloved finger, but it had no response. He then huffed out an extra loud sigh, removed his glove, and pressed his index finger to the pad.

Nothing happened; in his mind, Charles wanted to smash the panel with the butt of the Desert Eagle but knew better. He would probably end up trapping them and who knew if they'd ever be able to get off of the ship ever again? So instead, Captain Scully donned the glove again and shrugged to his subservient officer. "I'm tapped," he finally said.

"Let me try something, sir," Carson offered and Ctn. Scully nodded. They switched places while Carson examined the controls. He waived a hand over the panel, and the door immediately retracted above their heads. "Cool."

Both pilots trained their sidearms around keeping a wary stance, and Charles took the lead. As soon as they left the cargo hold, the door suddenly shut itself behind them. "Damn, I hope that will work again to get us outta here," Ctn. Scully remarked.

"Looks like it will, sir. I see a panel that appears to be identical to the other one opposite you," Carson whispered.

"Good, now keep your mouth shut until I ask you another question." _Which might be in a short amount of time,_ he thought.

The corridor to the navigational bridge appeared as if it were built out of magenta crystals and black steel. It did not come to a halt for at least two more minutes, and then they arrived at a fork. "Damn. Which way, sir?" Carson inquired.

"We'll have to split up. You take the left, and I'll take the right. If you encounter resistance, radio for backup, and I'll do likewise. Right now, it looks like they all went down to backwoods, Florida," Charles stated.

"Yeah, for a nice cold one and some smoked barbecue. Captain, you thinkin' what I'm thinkin' if we do this right?"

"Hmm...sixteen hours of downtime...we'll see, Viper."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

KOA Campgrounds, Wauchula, FL

June 5th, 2001, 8:25 p.m.

The Allman Brothers just completed their sixth song, and most of the humans that had been dancing quit. But the aliens still swayed and romped to the music as much as they could. "Blue Sky" was now playing mellowly, and Clampett was enjoying every note of the song. Just as he was wondering if Mulder and Scully were going to make an appearance, he spotted the two of them strolling in the grass up to his lawn chair.

"Well, lookit what the cat dragged in," he grinned and stood to offer his chair to Scully. "Didn't think you two knew how to have a good time."

"And miss the real smoked pulled pork sandwiches? No way," Mulder rubbed his stomach gleefully and burped. "Oh, excuse me. Think I ate too many of those."

"If I hadn't seen the aliens eating with such gusto, I might have agreed with you," Scully jibed and snorted once.

"Did you know that in the Japanese culture, it's a compliment to burp after you're finished with a meal?"

"Point taken, alas, Mulder, we are not in Japan." She linked her arm in his and watched the crowd of foreigners.

"She's got that right," Clampett laughed and reached into his pocket. "Wouldn't be able to enjoy these there." He brought out a baggie filled with pre-fabricated joints.

"What is that smell?" Scully asked and crinkled her nose.

"Smell? All I smell is the stuff from the smoke pit," Mulder informed her.

"It most definitely is _not_ the smoke pit that I smell."

"Beer?"

"I think I'd be able to pinpoint _that_ scent from a mile away." She scanned the crowd and locked her gaze upon a group of young adults who were passing around a pipe. "Mulder...-"

"Yeah?" He was searching on the other side of the crowd, and Scully guided his chin to the left gently so he could observe what she saw. "Oh...guess we made it to a Woodstock down South, didn't we?"

"Mulder, they're consuming marijuana!" she exclaimed in a hushed tone. "It's still illegal in Florida!"

"Well, what're you suggesting; you wanna make a bust in the middle of all this?"

"Not necessarily. Maybe the Sheriff and Deputy Gump could go around quietly and..." she pivoted her head just in time to see Clampett take a very long inhale from his own stash. "Oh, brother," Scully sighed.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Scully. Potheads aren't as much of a bother as people on coke, speed, or PCP. Besides, you're not here officially," Mulder shrugged. "Think of the bigger picture for now."

"I suppose you're right. But I still reserve the right to hate that smell," she scoffed and pulled him slightly away from the wind blowing the smoke right into their faces.

"Scully, did you ever...you know...-"

"No."

"Not even a puff?" Mulder questioned her with a smirk.

"I've never touched the stuff unless shoveling it into an evidence bag counts."

"It doesn't. I was just curious," he shrugged and unhooked himself from her arm. He relocated his arm around her shoulders and leaned against a nearby magnolia tree. "Still, you've got to admit that it puts people in a very relaxed mood."

"Fox William Mulder, do you mean to tell me that you've inhaled and smoked weed?" Up went that famous eyebrow.

"Um...one time only. It was after Phoebe just broke up with me in England, and I was kind of feeling lonely at a party. Some girl came up to me with one already lit..."

"And did you get lucky?"

"I'd...rather not say."

"Why's that?"

"Hey, look." He stiffened up and removed his arm. "Some kid just passed it to one of the aliens."

"Okay, maybe it _is_ time to start busting people now," Scully grumbled and patted her jeans down as she tried to locate her badge.

"I wouldn't be so quick to do that, Scully. Oh, wow."

"What?"

"Take a look for yourself," he whispered and pointed to the spectacle.

Not only were the Allman Brothers band members smoking their own pot, but there were _several_ pipes and joints going around the crowd. Not only were humans doing it, but the aliens were starting to inhale and pass the cigarettes.

"Now I've seen everything," she groaned and passed a weary hand over her face.

"But don't you see? This could incapacitate them while your brother and his buddies are doing their work up there," Mulder motioned his head to the sky briefly. "They'll be completely unaware of anything for at least the next ten minutes."

"Depends upon how much they're smoking, wouldn't you say?"

"Looks like there are at least two or three being passed _per_ aisle, Scully. They won't be going anywhere if they're taking in a full inhale."

"Just re-lax, Agent Scully," Clampett said slowly. "Slow down, and let the music just sink into your head. Want some?" He withdrew the cigarette from his mouth and proffered it to them.

"No thanks," Mulder beamed.

_BOOM_!

Both Scully's and Mulder's heads snapped back to the audience as they heard the noise. At first, they thought it might have come from the P.A., but now it began to repeat several times. One by one, the aliens combusted and burst into puddles of the same blue that Scully had seen in their cabin. "What the hell?" she muttered.

"I don't believe it," Mulder laughed.

Every single one of the aliens changed into a pile of blue goo, and the Allman Brothers finished their song. "Well, folks, looks like you're enjoyin' yourselves out there, too," Greg Allman giggled.

The humans cheered and hollered as they eventually noticed all the aliens' remains in the grass. Their clothes were even shredded into several pieces.

"We'll be takin' a ten minute break if you don't mind," Allman declared. "We'll be back for another couple o' songs, if you'd like."

The denizens of Wauchula shouted their approval happily.

Minutes later, Earth's atmosphere...

"Captain! Captain, I found the bridge!" Lieutenant Adam Carson's voice shocked Charles through his helmet, and he stopped dead in his tracks. "And the air in the ship is oxygen, sir! I've just found some controls that monitor the air purification process up here."

"Good," Ctn. Scully removed his head gear and re-inserted his radio earpiece. "Now, tell me which way I have to go, if you can remember your way through the hallways."

"It's a done deal, sir. There's a holographic map right in front of me, and I think I can see you. Try turning around and going to your...left."

"Okay. How do you know it's me?"

"There aren't any other red glowing dots on the map."

"Nice process of elimination, Airman," Charles rolled his eyes. "Now what?"

"Keep heading straight until I tell you to turn in another direction."

"For how long?"

"I don't know, sir. Just keep going."

"So, can you understand any of the equipment up there other than this map and that airway system?"

"Not very much, Captain, no. I only understood the oxygen levels thing because they used the universal periodic symbol for it. Everything else is um...well...alien. Oh, turn right at the next three way intersection."

"You'd better be better at directions than my wife is, Viper. She couldn't find her way out of a wet paper bag," Ctn. Scully growled.

"Well, I got myself here, sir, that's all I have to say. By the way, did you find anything interesting while we were split up?"

"A bunch of glowing crystals and spinning orbs, I dunno. I didn't like Star Trek when it was on, so I never paid any attention to it."

"Too bad, sir; it probably could've helped you right now."

"Well maybe I'll start to watch Stargate SG-1 when it's on so the next time that I'm on a freakin' alien spaceship, I'll have an idea of which button to push when. Don't you realize that that's all science fiction, Viper?"

"That's what they said about cloaking technology, didn't they, sir?"

"Shut up."

"All right. Just waive your arm in front of the beam in front of you, and you'll be in the antechamber to the bridge."

"What beam? Oh, this blue looking thing?" Charles arrived at the end of the corridor and glanced at the azure light. "Now am I gonna get my particles severed and then put back together where you are?"

"Not that I know of," Carson replied nonchalantly.

Captain Scully cautiously lowered his arm and dipped it into the light. He was half expecting it to fall off or trigger some sort of alarm, but the wall in front of him morphed into a giant green pool. "Uh, Viper?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Am I supposed to walk into this green stuff?"

"Yes, sir, Captain."

"Good. Then what happens on the other side?"

"You'll be in the same place that I am, sir." He entered the teleporting pool and as he stepped out the other side, Carson saluted him. "Good to see you, sir."

"The feeling's mutual, Lieutenant. Now, let's see...how do we turn these babies around and make them crash into one another once they've left Earth?"

"I believe we would find those instructions from the 'How to Use A Mothership' manual that I left at home, sir."

"Cut the crap, Viper. There's got to be some kind of a button or a switch with a pressurized lock...what does your Star Wars lore tell you to look for?"

"Well, no one really did that...they just kind of destroyed one another...not that there wasn't one on the actual ships. But no one ever pressed a 'self-destruct button' in Star Wars. Hmm..."

"I think I found their...weather contraption...or one of them," Charles said and squinted at a rack of way too many blinking green LEDs and antennae. "Looks like they use technology a little like ours. And the key is to now find the big 'off' switch...or a plug...maybe."

"But wouldn't the weather transmogrifiers be on all the ships? You could probably fit the population of Cleveland on one of them alone."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Keep looking, then."

"Wouldn't this be awesome if we could take one of these babies back to Bethesda?" Charles swiveled his head around and gave his underling a disparaging look. "Well, if we could get the cloaking system back up and all, I mean."

"I believe it is working, Airman. The EMP we fired was only a quarter of the maximum charge that our artillery could handle. Besides, remember how Base was upset when we disappeared from their radar?"

"So what we fired was only temporary for us to see them and get in?"

"That sounds about right," Ctn. Scully answered him. "You know, they always make it look so obvious and easy in the movies. The aliens here don't have near the good sense the Hollywood designers do to make everything shiny and big."

"Oh, I don't know, sir. They have plenty of inexplicable blinking lights."

"Did you find any that will help us?"

"I don't think so yet, sir."

"Then shut up and continue your search." Carson nodded and set his helmet down onto a console silently. Suddenly, the helmet seemed to activate the entire ship's engines. "What's going on, Viper?" Charles pressed indignantly.

"Um...I'm not sure. I think I must have activated something with the weight of my helmet."

"Oh, it was something, all right. Can't you feel that rumbling? Those are the thrusters on the starboard and port rear quadrants!"

"Well, we're apparently still in park or neutral, sir. There's nothing to panic about...yet, I hope," Carson muttered the last fragment.

"That's very reassuring, thank you."

"Look, if you want proof, just look outside. There are all the ships right there," Carson pointed to the semi-circle glass to his left and lifted his helmet from the panel.

"And they all seem to have their engines firing, too."

"Really? That's cool. Then we must have chosen the flag ship of the fleet without even knowing it," Carson chortled.

"All right, well now that you tripped over the ignitions, let's see if we can discover where the guidance or navigational systems are."

"And those would be labeled under..."

"Well, you could just keep randomly setting your helmet down for pressure sensitive switches or then again, you could try to press those buttons."

"Uh-uh, sir. I'm not going to be held responsible for our deaths."

"Are you going to disobey a direct order, Airman?" Charles' voice raised.

"With all due respect, sir, I wasn't under the impression that I was sent here for a suicide mission. I'll assist you as much as I can, sir, but-"

"Move over. If I can figure out how to hot wire a Russian Tiger, then I can do this."

"Where'd you do that, sir?"

"Kosovo." Captain Scully crossed over to the navigational console and started to type on the LCD keyboard.

"Might I ask a question, sir?"

"If you're about to ask if I know what I'm doing, then you'd better get back to your fighter and prepare to get the hell out of here. 'Cause you'd probably rather die with the rest of the planet in twenty-six hours...as a freakin' coward."

"What'd you call me?"

"I said that you're a coward. You know, a yellow belly, a custard packer, a low-life fraidy cat. Know any other synonyms?"

Carson bit his lip and joined his commander at another LCD workstation. "No, and I'm gonna make you eat those words, you asshole."

Captain Scully hid a smile and continued his work.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

KOA Campgrounds, Wauchula, FL

June 5th, 2001, 9:47 p.m.

"So lemme ask you somethin', Agent Scully," Sheriff Clampett began and poked at the blue remains of the aliens with a stick.

"And that is?" she finished for him and knelt on her haunches with a Q-tip.

"How're we supposed to collect these bodies for your autopsies?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Maybe you oughta be usin' them things on your ears," he pointed to the Q-tip. "I said, how're we supposed to be collectin' the bodies if they're nothin' but this jelly?"

"That's very simple. Don't you have wet vacs?"

"Yeah, we do. That means an extra trip back to the office, though."

Scully dipped the Q-tip into the soil near one of the alien's remains. "Dr. Van Winkle is expecting the deliveries in fifteen minutes, Sheriff."

"So what?"

"The quicker you get the wet vacuum, the sooner you can go home," she snapped.

He chuffed at her snippy comeback and shuffled back to his squad car. "Yes, ma'am. I live to serve."

"Scully, do you think that your brother was able to make it?" Mulder questioned her and picked up one of the transmitting bracelets from the aliens' goo by a ballpoint pen to study it.

"I hope so," she sighed and stood.

"What're you hoping to get out of these autopsies?"

"Um...a reason why they died...?"

"But we already know, Scully. The marijuana made 'em pop just like alka seltzer and rice does with seagulls' stomachs."

"And you would know this...how?" Scully wondered.

"I'll have you know that as a boy I often performed scientific experiments. You mean to tell me that you never did any of those when you played with your brothers?" He twirled the bracelet around.

"Not really, but I will disclose that a certain sibling of mine loved to burn ants into the ground with a magnifying glass. Just how many of these poor creatures did you kill with these quote scientific experiments?"

"A handful, I guess. Scully..." He touched her arm and drew her attention to the object at the end of his pen.

"What am I looking at, Mulder?"

"I think it was one of their snow transmitters."

"What?" Scully's voice rose an octave.

"Yeah--I remember Farnor showing me one of them around his arm before he disappeared," Mulder answered her. "But then it was glowing some kind of well...I would guess green because I saw red lights. So are they red now?"

"Very."

At that moment, two airplanes came from out of nowhere and soared closer to the earth. Both Mulder and Scully's heads jerked up to the sky. A car door slammed shut scaring them, and Clampett came towards her with a shop vac in hand. "Here's what you wanted, Agent Scully. Is this gonna be big 'nuff?" he inquired.

"I suppose so. Thank you," she responded and took the vacuum from him. "Sheriff, there's no cord."

"It's got re-chargeable batteries in it. Black and Decker makes the darndest things these days," he laughed. "Whatcha lookin' at, Mr. Mulder?" He drew his gaze towards the ex-g-man.

"A pair of F-16s heading our way. Scully, what kind of planes does your brother fly?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." She bent down towards the alien sludge and turned on the vacuum cleaner.

"You can call me paranoid if you want, Scully, but I think those fighters are heading right for us."

She swept the hose over the blue gelatin nonchalantly.

"So what if they are?" Clampett shook his head and pulled out another blunt.

"Man, you _really_ need to lay off of those things. Give the plant a break."

"They like bein' lit; like foxes love to be hunted."

Scully finally turned off the shop vac and separated the lid from the canister. "Guess I'm already filled up. Sheriff, was this empty before I started to use it?"

Clampett shrugged and lit up his joint without another word.

"What's wrong, Mulder, you've got your panic face on?" She closed the vacuum and set it onto the ground.

"Oh, it might have to do with the fact that those planes are getting closer to us," Mulder replied meekly and pointed to the F-16s that had just landed about two football fields away.

The planes slowed, came to a full stop, and the pilots disembarked from them down two step ladders. One of the pilots removed his helmet, tossed it back in the cockpit, and strolled right towards them purposefully. "C'mere, Shorty," Ctn. Scully called.

"Charlie?" Scully asked.

"Shorty?" Mulder wondered and scratched his head as he watched his partner run over to greet her brother with a bear hug.

The two walked back over to Mulder and Clampett arm in arm. "The guy over there smoking weed yet _again_ is the local sheriff," Scully sighed. "And this..." she extricated herself from Ctn. Scully, "is Mulder. Mulder, this is Charles." She squeezed Mulder's right bicep gently as he held it towards Ctn. Scully for a handshake.

"Hmm...so this is the man who's kept my sister intrigued all these years," Ctn. Scully commented with a half-smile and accepted Mulder. "Nice to finally meet you."

"The feeling's mutual, Captain Scully."

"So, uh...why the surprise visit?" Scully inquired.

"Eh, well, we were in the neighborhood so to speak, and we thought we'd drop by for a couple of cold ones," Ctn. Scully said and signaled their attention to Carson trailing his path.

"Yeah, and some good Southern BBQ. You got any left?" Carson smiled.

"I got a couple of coolers stocked full in my trunk. Y'all kin dig right in," Clampett told them and handed his keys to Ctn. Scully.

"Mulder, we should get these specimens refrigerated as soon as possible. Charlie, I hate to leave you so soon, but, as you know, duty calls," Scully spoke up.

"No prob, Shorty. I'll see you on the 4th if not sooner." He opened up the police car's trunk and tossed a can of Heineken to Carson.

Mulder gave his rental keys to Scully. "I want to talk to your brother a little more, if I can." She rolled her eyes.

"You're not gonna get anything out of him, Mulder, so quit it while you're still on good terms with _one_ of my brothers."

"She's right, you know," Ctn. Scully opened his own can and chugged some of the alcohol with a breath of relief after it went down. "I can't tell you much."

"I just wanna know how you figured out how to fly them."

Scully started the Mustang. "Mulder, if you're not in the car in about twenty seconds, you'll be sleeping on the couch tonight," she warned sternly out an open window.

"Guess you'd better go," Carson chuffed.

"Just tell me--I'll handle her at my own risk," Mulder responded coolly.

"Just know that you've got nothin' to worry 'bout, Mr. Mulder," Ctn. Scully bit his lip. "Your visitors' transportation has been taken care of."

"But-" Mulder began and the car horn honked. He literally jumped and spun around. "I'm coming," he yelled and sprinted towards the Mustang.

As he situated himself in the car, Scully handed him her doctor's bag. "I just thought of something incredibly ironic, Scully," Mulder sputtered.

Scully pulled her seat forward and buckled herself in.

"My brother who works for the government was willing to help us?"

"Well, no, that wasn't what I was thinking about; I'd consider that as a carte blanche rather than irony. I was thinking that Sheriff Clampett did in fact save the world from destruction."

"Hmm..." she reflected upon his statement, shifted gears, and pulled off of the grass onto the campground's gravel road. "You're right, Mulder, that _is_ ironic, considering that less than forty-eight hours before, he screwed up our one and only shot."

"Maybe the South isn't as bad as I thought it was."

"No, it isn't, Mulder. You're just been through a couple of bad experiences. Don't let them completely taint your views towards an entire region."

"Well, are you going to stay and help Dr. Van Winkle with those autopsies and crawl into bed without waking me as usual?"

"No, I don't think so. Let's just drop this wet vac off and be on our way to DC in the morning."

"The scientist in you has no curiosity whatsoever about these creatures?" Mulder leaned an elbow onto his door.

"Since I can't properly identify any organs, cell structure, or even body parts for that matter, I would have to say no."

"What about Lord Farnor? He's still out there somewhere--probably in Antarctica by now...or maybe he's on his way back," Mulder proposed.

"Hmm...that'll have to remain an enigma until I can get a proper 302 for the next time. In the meanwhile, I think I'd like to spend the remaining hours I have off after we get home tomorrow with our son."

"Would that be a mother/son day only?"

"Um...only if you wouldn't mind," Scully nearly cringed. "I think I need a day off from you, Mulder--please."

"Why?" He crossed his arms.

"I just need some...breathing room. Don't take this as me putting some distance between ourselves in our relationship...we've just been in very close quarters for the last five days..."

"Thought I showered this evening." Mulder sniffed himself.

She chortled through her nose and shook her head. "I don't want this to end at all...please, don't misunderstand me, Mulder." Scully stopped at a red light and finally gave him full eye contact. He took her right hand from the wheel and kissed her fingers.

"Okay, a deal's a deal--but fair's fair. Tell me why Charles can call you Shorty, get away with it, and not be pounded into mincemeat by your fists?"

Scully gave him an incredulous look as she lightly pressed her foot to the accelerator. "Because he's my brother."

"But he's your baby brother," Mulder observed. "Isn't that a lower position on the totem pole?"

She answered him with a silent shrug and kept her eyes to the road.

"Well, guess I'll have to keep trying on those pet names, then."

"Keep it up, and you're walking back to the bed and breakfast, Mulder."

For once, Mulder kept his mouth shut but smiled happily to himself thinking that he was the luckiest guy in the world.

The X-Files Office, Washington, D.C.

June 7th, 2001, 8:15 a.m.

The coffee pot's majestic smell welcomed Scully cheerfully as she strolled over the threshold. Reyes sat at Doggett's desk with an old x-file in hand, and without even looking up, she knew who it was. "Welcome back, Dana," she said sanguinely. "Coffee'll be ready in five."

"How did you..." Scully began and meandered over to a cabinet to pull out a clean mug. _She's too much like Mulder._

"Because Doggett doesn't wear three inch heels."

"Speaking of the man, where is he?"

"Where else? Getting the morning mail."

"How did your house deal go down?" Scully wondered.

"Just fine, actually. By the time the new owner signed the papers, I got my original asking price," Reyes declared proudly.

"How'd you manage that?"

"I have a good real estate agent."

"Would you like some coffee, Monica?"

"Hmm, please and thank you," she nodded and turned a page.

"What're you studying with such fervor?" Scully asked, took the pot off of the burner, and poured the coffee into two mugs.

"That case you and Mulder had with the kid who could control lightning. Totally cool. Is he still alive?"

"I believe so, but he didn't leave his last path of destruction unscathed." She brought the coffee back and as she nearly spilled some, her eyes went straight to the floor. "Monica, when did the office get new carpet?"

"I think over the weekend," Reyes responded noncommittally, closed the x-file, and stood to claim her mug from Scully. "We were kind of surprised, too. I don't know if you noticed it either, but the walls have been completely repainted and spackled, too."

"Why?"

"Well, they _did_ need to get done. I mean, they did a horrible patching up job after your office got hit with the fire about four years ago."

Scully sipped her mug and nodded with understanding. She glanced up at the ceiling and took a double take. "The tiles are new in the ceiling, too. Good grief, who had this all done?"

"I think I have an odd feeling that I know who-" Reyes started but never finished as the Don of the FBI, SAC Tony Capricci journeyed through the door.

"Good morning, ladies," he greeted them both with a huge beam. "Do you like?" He swept his hand around the office flamboyantly. "I would've had the office walls done in pink, but then I remembered Doggett works down here, too."

"Yes, he does," Scully politely agreed and sat down at her bureau. "Thank you, Agent Capricci. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?" She began to search through her drawers.

"Oh, not much. I'm actually here to see Agent Reyes."

"Me? How can I help you, Tony?" Reyes set her mug down on Doggett's desk and traveled back to the coffee pot. "Would you like some?"

"No, but I'll take a rain check, thanks. In fact, that's what I was um...going to ask of you, Reyes."

"Monica, please, Tony. We're all friends here. Go on." She gave him a flashy smile and removed some non-dairy creamer from the cupboard below.

"Would you like to...have some Italian with me tomorrow night?"

Scully's head popped up from her search, and she slowly repositioned her body so that she could see both younger agents properly.

"Sure, why not?" Monica answered him optimistically and stirred in the cream.

"Is there a specific place you'd like to go, or would Bertolli's be okay?" Capricci turned the charisma up three notches.

"That sounds perfect. Is 7:00 too late?"

"Not at all. I'll pick you up at 6:30 so we can get stuck in traffic together for a while," he joked. "It'd almost be like parking, huh?"

Scully inwardly groaned and ran a hand in front of her eyes in a grimace.

"See you tomorrow night," Reyes told him as he strutted out the door, proud as a peacock.

"What's up, Doggett?" Capricci greeted his senior and shook hands with him in the hallway.

"Good to see ya, Tony. Hey, thanks for the remodeling," Doggett said.

"Don't mention it, Paisan. Think of it as a favor."

Doggett nodded in agreement, froze for a moment mid-stride, and watched Capricci disappear behind the elevator doors. He did have kind of a wise guy attitude, but he was a bona fide g-man. However, Doggett did have to wonder what Capricci meant by the word 'favor'; when he heard it, that usually was not a good thing coming from a wise guy's mouth. It was the proverbial ball and chain unspoken debt from a member of the Mafia. _Everything's got a price from the Family_, Doggett remembered.

However, as soon as he saw his companions busy in the office, he wiped all traces of his past life away. Both briefly looked up as he came in. Scully gave him a short but sincere closed mouth smile then but went back to work immediately. Reyes arose and actually went to hug him. "Morning, John."

"Hello, Monica. You find anything new and worthy of our interest?"

"Well, there's something in Allentown, Pennsylvania-"

"Oh, wait, I should've mentioned the fact that Deputy Director Kersh is back from his vacation. So, uh...we need to once again be careful of our 302 requisition forms," Doggett told the both of them.

"Oh, brother," Scully mumbled to herself. "How was your fishing trip, Agent Doggett?"

"It was good, thanks. I caught quite a few yellow perch. I understand you went with Mulder somewhere..."

"Florida."

"Did you get to relax?" Reyes questioned her.

"Not as much as I would've liked, but then again, I don't care much for Florida," Scully remarked. "Anything good in the mail, John?"

"Just a letter for you and Mulder. It's from Las Vegas, as a matter of fact. Do you know anyone out there?" Doggett handed her a business sized envelope, and she inspected the return address, which read: N. Stokes, Las Vegas PD.

One eyebrow quickly arose and set. "Yes."

She flipped the envelope over and slid it underneath an apple paper weight.

"Aren't you even going to open it?" Reyes inquired curiously.

"Later. I have to go through these expense reports first." Scully opened a huge stapled packet that had been sitting on her ink blotter, and Doggett sat in his chair across from his desk.

"Okay, Monica. What've we got that _sounds _like a partially legitimate 302?"

THE END


End file.
